


Inescapable

by Thorn_Rose



Series: MadaTobi :D [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: And everyone else - Freeform, Character Death, Hashirama worries, Madara is confused, Madara just wants to keep Izuna safe, Madara suffers because hes pretty, Sorry Not Sorry, Tobirama is confused, alternative tobirama's a dick, another space-time fic, but a bloody genius, but really i am, dark!tobirama senju, im sorry madara, inappropriate mokuton use, izuna is pissed, snuffed out candle, tobirama has a constant headache, we about to throw down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorn_Rose/pseuds/Thorn_Rose
Summary: It was Tobirama...but not, Tobirama.Not the one he knew.Not the one with sharp red eyes, calculating and observant, cold, but hiding just a hint of softness. Usually only shown with his brother or the children of his clan.This was not that Tobirama.This Tobirama eyed him with red eyes surrounded by black sclera, bright with interest. “In my version of time, you’re dead,” not-Tobirama said, his head tilting in a familiar way as he eyed Madara up and down. “I killed you.”~*~*~In which a space-time jutsu backfires, and Tobirama swaps places with another version of himself. A much stronger, darker version of himself. One who has no qualms, no morals.... This should be interesting
Relationships: Alt Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: MadaTobi :D [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087394
Comments: 311
Kudos: 318





	1. Time Warp

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to try my hand at one of these. So far, my ideas for it are....rather limited. I have a scrap of an idea and I rolled with it. We'll see how this goes.

~*~*~

Of all the things to screw up, a space-time jutsu was not ideal. If he were lesser, dimmer, he might have been utterly perplexed. 

Tobirama was not a lesser, dimmer man. 

The cliff face above Konoha had a face carved into it. It was not his elder brother's face, but his own. Huh. So, just what had gone wrong with his jutsu?

He looked down at Konoha from his perch on a familiar roof, only the colours were wrong. It looked rather the same, besides the oddities in colour and some slight layout changes. The Academy still stood, but it was much, much larger than normal Konoha’s. 

“Lord First,” a dreadfully, annoyingly familiar voice called quietly. He turned, surprised that his sensory abilities had not warned him, and nearly had a heart attack. 

Standing on the roof behind him, his hands folded in the large sleeves of his yukata, stood Izuna Uchiha. Only his hair was cut short, lacking his distinctive ponytail. And wound around his eyes was a strip of thick black cloth. The Senju symbol was sewn into it. 

“Lord First, your meeting is beginning soon,” Izuna said quietly. His head was bowed, and tilted slightly to the side; his left ear was nearer to Tobirama than his other. He was compensating, Tobirama realized. A brief flare of his senses confirmed his slight suspicions. 

Izuna had no eyes. No Sharingan. No chakra. What the actual fuck. 

~*~*~

If he had known this would all royally screw up, he would have blown the younger Senju off and stayed in bed. 

As he hadn’t known, and had dragged himself out of bed to plod down the stairs to Tobirama’s lab, here he was, dealing with the fallout. 

The smoke that had suddenly and violently erupted from all around Tobirama was fading, slowly dissipating and sinking to the ground. Sharingan activated, memorizing the events for Tobirama’s notes, Madara stared at the Senju, his chakra flaring instinctively with the feeling of...wrong….that crashed over him. 

The white haired Senju stared at him, an uncommon expression of surprise on his face. He looked older, more battle scarred. They stared at each other for a moment, Madara’s mind racing with WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED. After a moment, Tobirama turned, frowning at the room. 

“This is familiar,” he commented. His voice was deeper, rougher, much like he had swallowed a handful of gravel before speaking. “But this is not where I just was. Interesting.” He crossed his arms, propping his chin in one hand. “Perhaps that pull I felt just before….space-time?” 

He moved from his spot finally, wandering over to a desk and plucking up a paper. He kept talking, more to himself, and Madara continued to gawk at him. “Huh. This was three years ago. Konoha is already founded. Which means less time and more….space. Because…” 

He spun about on his heels, gaze falling on Madara, and hardening. Madara’s chakra instinctively surged at his action, sensing danger, and he tensed without realizing it, preparing for a fight. Which he never did with Tobirama, not anymore. They...had reached a consensus, so to speak. They didn’t hate each other, but they weren’t each other's favorite person either. The only thing they talked about was getting Hashirama to do his work and discussing new jutsus. Which is exactly what they had just been doing. And apparently something happened. 

Tobirama continued to stare at him, looking more curious now than anything else. 

It was Tobirama...but not, Tobirama. 

Not the one he knew. 

Not the one with sharp red eyes, calculating and observant, cold, but hiding just a hint of softness. Usually only shown with his brother or the children of his clan. 

This was not that Tobirama. 

This Tobirama eyed him with red eyes surrounded by black sclera, bright with interest. “In my version of time, you’re dead,” not-Tobirama said, his head tilting in a familiar way as he eyed Madara up and down. “I killed you.” 

For some reason, the words had Madara instinctively lighting his hands on fire. Not-Tobirama’s eyes didn’t leave his face. “So since we’re at this point in time, when I was working on that jutsu,” he waved absentmindedly at the paper he had just looked at, “I think we can conclude this more of a space, or dimensional warp, rather than a time one.” His eyes traced over Madara again. 

“How different is this universe from mine?” Not-Tobirama wondered. “And why would I be down here in my lab with you? Why did I leave you alive?” He took a few steps closer. Despite his instincts telling him something was very, VERY wrong, Madara stood his ground, red eyes narrowing. Not-Tobirama stopped before him, too close, and he had to tilt his head to look up at him. 

Not-Tobirama grinned, sharp and feral and not at all like his usual self. It was disconcerting. “Not that I’m complaining,” Not-Tobirama continued. “I did regret killing you as opposed to just taking your eyes and chakra and keeping you locked up somewhere. Hashirama was very upset with me for taking your life.” He paused, tilting his head. “Where is Hashirama now, anyways?” 

Madara stared at him for a moment, and Tobirama stared right back. “In his office,” he said finally. “Working, like he should be.”

“Don’t tell me,” Not-Tobirama muttered, sounding surprised. “Anija is Hokage?” 

Madara nodded, and Not-Tobirama’s eyebrows shot up. “Then this universe is even more messed up than I imagined.” 

Madara bristled, offended. “There is nothing wrong with this universe,” he snapped, finally taking a step back to alleviate the unpleasant tinge in his neck that came with having to crane it back so much to look up at the Senju. He always hated their height difference; Tobirama held it over his head with glee. Literally. 

“Apparently there is,” Not- Tobirama shot back, stepping with him. “You’re alive, Anija is Hokage….I’m surprised this place hasn’t fallen apart by now.” His red eyes flicked to the Sharingan. “It is a little pleasant to see a Sharingan again, I must admit. I haven’t seen one for years.” 

The words had Madara tensing. “What do you mean?” he asked lowly. Not-Tobirama shrugged. 

“In my universe, after I killed you, we Senju subjugated the Uchiha. Their eyes were taken from them, and their chakra sealed. I’m surprised that yours is not. Assuming I’m right and you’re just happily cantering about Konoha without a leash.” 

Madara snarled at him, taking a step forward and shoving the Senju’s chest. “How dare you,” he hissed, the flames starting to lick up his arms, over his shoulders, and into his hair. It didn’t burn him, but it did radiate heat. He was furious; furious with this strange Tobirama from another dimension who dared to enslave and humiliate his people. Even if they were from another dimension, he felt a familiar surge of protectiveness for his clan. 

Much to his surprise, Tobirama didn’t step back. Instead, he stood solid, grabbing Madara’s wrists. A chillingly cold sensation spread over him, like ice was crawling over his skin. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, his flames went out. 

Well, that was new. Surprised, he just stared at Not-Tobirama for a moment, utterly taken off guard. The Senju’s red and black eyes stared back, mouth pulling up into a smirk. On normal Tobirama’s face, Madara might have found it attractive. One this Tobirama’s face, it was chilling. 

“Let’s see just how much my world and this one is different, shall we?” he asked, leaning a little closer. “I wonder if I can still hirashin to Anija…. No time like the present to test it.” His fingers curled painfully tight around Madara’s wrists, and with a familiar feeling of air being snatched from his lungs, they vanished from Tobirama’s lab. 

~*~*~

Hashirama looked up, startled, when they appeared in his office. “Oh, hello,” he said cheerfully, pushing aside whatever he was working on. Lazy idiot, Madara found himself thinking, despite the oddness of the situation. “What are you two...oh….” Hashirama trailed off, and Madara sighed with relief. Despite his denseness, Hashirama was observant, when he had to be. 

“Tobirama,” he said, standing up and staring at his brother, face carefully blank. Not-Tobirama tilted his head, surveying the room, and then taking in the robe his brother wore. 

“So it’s true,” he said, surprised. “You really are Hokage in this dimension.” 

“Uh….Dimension?” Hashirama echoed. He glanced at Madara, finally noticing the iron grip Not-Tobirama had on his wrists, so tight the skin was whitening under his hold. He glanced at Madara, and he very slightly tilted his head, eyes flicking to Tobirama, and then to him. Discreetly, he moved one finger in a circular pattern. Hashirama’s eyes darkened as he recognized the familiar movement. 

Danger. 

Clasping his hands together, Hashirama flared his chakra, but didn’t move otherwise. Ready to attack, but not doing so yet. “You are not Tobirama,” he noted, and Not-Tobirama snorted. 

“No shit.” He squeezed Madara’s wrists, then pushed the Uchiha away. Madara felt no shame in taking a few more steps back, closer to Hashirama. He was the only thing familiar here. The only thing safe. 

“I must say, I am curious about my...other self’s...reasons for all of...this.” He waved a hand vaguely at Hashirama and Madara. “In my version of reality, I became Hokage, not you. And tell me, why have you not taken away the Uchiha clans eyes and chakra? I can sense them all over the village.” 

“W-what?” Hashirama stuttered, looking utterly confused. “Their eyes and chakra?” 

“Apparently, in his version of reality, after the Senju overcame the Uchiha he had the Uchiha’s eyes and chakra taken from them,” Madara growled lowly, narrowing his eyes at Not-Tobirama. 

“That’s barbaric,” Hashirama protested, giving Not-Tobirama an aghast look. 

“It’s logical,” Not-Tobirama shot back. “I couldn’t kill them all without upsetting you, Anija. So I did the next best thing. I eradicated the threat that that cursed clan presents.” 

A thought suddenly came to mind, and made him feel sick. “What of the Uchiha children born?” Madara asked quietly. Not-Tobirama gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Their eyes are taken as soon as they awaken their Sharingan,” he said, as if that made perfect sense. Madara’s chakra flared, and he burst into flame. 

“You monster,” he snarled. “How could you do that to a child?” Not-Tobirama looked unfazed, but his chakra flared in return, and it had Madara freezing in place. 

It didn’t feel like Tobirama at all. Tobirama’s chakra was cool, soothing, and calm. This...this was not. It was dark, freezing, icy, and tumultuous. And it had a distinctive feeling beneath it….

“Mokuton?” he asked, surprised. Not-Tobirama smirked, with too many teeth. 

“You’re a better sensor in this reality,” he drawled. “Had your other self had your abilities, he wouldn’t have challenged me.” 

“But...you-you weren’t born with it!” Hashirama protested, and Not-Tobirama laughed, cold and sharp. 

“This reality’s version of me is apparently stupid!” 

The statement had Madara bristiling again, for some reason. 

“I found a way to take others' powers, their chakras and their Gekkai Kenkai’s,” Not-Tobirama explained. “My brother is too soft, too caring and forgiving. He wouldn’t use his power to their full extent against the Uchiha, so I took it for myself. I should have done it years ago. I ended the war within a week. Hashirama was weak; he couldn’t lead the clan, so I made myself clan head. He couldn’t beat me, not with me having Mokuton and my natural water affinity. And once the Uchiha yielded to us, I saw the logic behind having a village for allied clans to reside. I became Hokage.” 

He eyed the two of them, black and red eyes darkening. “My other self seems to be soft,” he commented. “Or foolish. Perhaps I should set things straight for him...do him a favour…” 

Madara’s Sharingan spun back to life. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled, letting the fire already encasing him flare. Not-Tobirama laughed, as if amused. 

“You really believe you can take me, Uchiha? You lost to Hashirama. Hashirama lost to me. I killed you once. It is no effort to do so again.” His chakra flared, overwhelmingly dark and twisted and violent in a way that Madara was not expecting. Instinctively, he threw up a mental shield to stop himself from reacting to Tobirama’s chakra. 

Not-Tobirama caught on very quickly. “Oh, neat trick you have,” he drawled, pulling his chakra back. “Very useful for sensory types. Clever.” 

“Okay, okay, everyone, just...stop.” Hashirama held up his hands, sitting back down at his desk. “Okay….um, other Tobirama, please no killing or maiming or taking eyes and chakra while you…. While you're visiting. Madara, do refrain from murdering our unexpected guest. We should probably try to figure out how to get our Tobirama back…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching. “Can I assume that you and our Tobirama simply swapped places?” he asked lowly. 

Not-Tobirama hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. I will go back to my lab and decipher his notes.” Without waiting for permission, he was gone. 

Madara let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, his fire sinking back under his skin. He and Hashirama exchanged a long look. The Senju looked oddly pale. 

“Madara,” he said, lowly, seriously. “Call all of the Uchiha back to your district. Keep the gates shut. I will have Mito set up warning and barrier seals all around it.” 

Without even questioning his reasons, Madara nodded, and took off to do just that.


	2. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alterative Tobirama is chatty   
> Who woulda thought

~*~*~

Tobirama sat behind the Hokage desk, HIS desk, with no small feeling of absolute bewilderment. It wasn’t the mishap with his jutsu that was bothering him. It wasn’t the fact that he was in some alternate universe where he was Hokage instead of Hashirama. 

No, he was perturbed by the fact that he couldn’t feel a SINGLE Uchiha chakra signature. There must be Uchiha around though. Izuna was here. He glanced over at the Uchiha, kneeling quietly by the door, his frown deepening. What had happened to him? He had always been so proud, so quick to snap a witty comment or biting words. He was stubborn, unquenchable, rebellious. 

But here….

It was like he was a ghost of his former self. Docile, submissive. Quiet. And afraid. Even though the Uchiha had no chakra, Tobirama could still feel his presence, his emotions. The constant edge of fear was sickening. Even on the battlefield, Izuna had never been afraid. 

“Izuna,” he found himself saying. The Uchiha’s head jerked up, then bowed just as swiftly. 

“Yes, lord Hokage?” he asked, timid, unsure. Tobirama stared at him. 

“What happened to you?” 

Izuna’s head tilted, just a little. “I...I am sorry, my lord….I do not understand what you mean…” 

“What happened to you?” he asked again. “To your chakra, your eyes. Why can I not feel the chakra of your clan, your brother?” Izuna swallowed thickly. 

“My lord, is this...another test?” he asked tentatively, fearfully. Tobirama frowned. 

“Yes,” he said, curious. Izuna replied, monotone. 

“Four years ago, you obtained the Mokuton power of Senju Hashirama for yourself,” Izuna said, mechanically, like he was reciting from a textbook. “With this power, and the power of your natural water affinity, you became head of the Senju clan, and ended the war with the Uchiha. Out of your great compassion for the misled clan, you spared their lives. You also gave the order to take their eyes and their chakra, to protect the village from the threat the Uchiha clan presents to others. The Uchiha become willing and loyal servants to the Senju clan, serving them in whatever way they can, thankful for being spared and saved from their own curse of hatred.” 

Izuna’s voice sounded dull, sad. If that wasn’t propaganda, Tobirama didn’t know what was. “And what of your brother?” he asked. “What of Uchiha Madara?” 

Izuna quivered, just a little, hands fisting into the fabric of the plain white yukata he wore. “Uchiha Madara, former head to the Uchiha clan, challenged your position as the war was coming to a close. With the Uchiha clan losing, the deranged Uchiha leader, desperate to continue the bloodshed, challenged you to single combat. The battle waged for two days, but in the end, Uchiha Madara fell to the great might of Senju Tobirama. Immediately after, the Uchiha clan surrendered, freed from their mad leaders' grasp.” Izuna’s voice was audibly wavering, thick with grief. 

Tobirama leaned back, clasping his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. This was….not what he had been expecting. This universe’s version of him was a madman. 

But how….He had to find Hashirama. 

“Izuna,” he said, and the Uchiha jerked to attention. “Do you know where I can find my brother?” 

The Uchiha looked confused. Or rather, as confused as he could with a cloth wound over his eyes. “Um, yes, where he always is, lord Hokage. In his gardens.” 

His obedience was unsettling. With a grunt, Tobirama pushed himself up, and hurried to where he knew the Senju households were. With hardly a sound, Izuna loyally followed him. 

~*~*~

~*~*~

*Alternative Tobirama’s perspective*

~*~*

What an intriguing conundrum. Tobirama brushed his fingers over the notes his other self had made, tracing over the familiar handwriting. He had never thought of attempting this jutsu before. Distantly, he wondered why. It was fascinating. Perhaps he wasn’t giving his alternative self enough credit. The man was clearly a genius. Just like he was. 

It was a difficult jutsu. Even he couldn’t tell what might have gone wrong. But space-time jutsu’s all were similar, one way or the other. You couldn’t simply take something from one dimension. Matter and mass did not just disappear. It could only be changed, replaced perhaps. For him to be in this version of reality, his other self must be in his. 

But how to get back? 

Should he even try? There was a lot to fix in this universe. The Uchiha problem, first and foremost. He paused at the thought, lifting his eyes from the papers to stare at the circle of ink where he had suddenly appeared only an hour or two before. 

This universe seemed so much more tame, much less bloodthirsty. From what he could tell, Hashirama’s outrageous idea for peace had actually worked here. He could definitely feel Uchiha and Senju chakra’s wandering around, all together, intermingled. It was odd. 

And Hashirama was the clan head, and Hokage. Interesting. 

Most interesting was the fact that Uchiha Madara was alive and breathing, even more fiery than his world's version. The thought of him made Tobirama grin. 

Ah, Madara. So fierce, so haughty and arrogant. Mouthy and rebellious and angry, his spiky hair fluffing up even more in his irritation. He had killed Madara in his world. Often, he regretted it. Hashirama was depressed after the death of his best friend, and had never really gotten over it, the pathetic weakling. But it wasn’t only for Hashirama’s benefit that he felt some remorse for his actions. No, it was for himself. 

Tobirama was a selfish man. He got what he wanted. And if he couldn’t get it, he destroyed it. Such had been the case with Madara. The man was too proud, too rebellious and free spirited to bow to him, to surrender himself, not only to Tobirama’s rule, but to him himself. He had snarled and cursed and bit when Tobirama tried to force him to yield, making an impressive escape, setting everything within 50 miles of him on fire. It had been a headache to extinguish it all. 

He knew the Uchiha wouldn’t yield willingly. He would have to beat it out of him. But his own strength surprised him sometimes, and he killed him instead. He still remembered that day. Madara, defiant Sharingan’s glaring at him. Then, the red fading into perfect, onyx black, blood trickling from his nose, his mouth, and his eyes like tears. The rattling sound of his breath, his body struggling for air despite his crushed rib cage, his collapsed lung and diaphragm. The bone jutting out of his thigh, the unnatural twist of his arm, and the blood pulsing from the slit over his throat. 

He bled so prettily, so appealingly. Tobirama had watched, enthralled, as Madara drew his last breath, his dark eyes, so beautifully defiant, going dark. When his body grew cold, Tobirama had taken it back with him, cutting it open, removing his eyes, learning how they worked. 

Then he ordered for every last Uchiha; elderly, adult, teenage, and child...to have their eyes removed. Seals were painted onto the backs of their necks, keeping their chakra locked away. And of course, an obedience seal, a clever little concoction he had conjured up shortly after. 

The Uchiha here seemed….calmer. But for how long would it last? He’d be doing his other version a favour by handling this problem before it could escalate. After all, he was a very kind man. The Senju were meant to rule over the Uchiha. As Ashura had overcome Indra, so the Senju were meant to overcome the Uchiha. 

Perhaps he could go about it in a smarter way this time around. After killing Madara, the Uchiha had surrendered. But not peacefully. There was anger, fury, rage. Assassination attempts on his life by Uchiha seeking revenge for their clan head. 

Perhaps he had gone about it the wrong way after all. To subjugate all the Uchiha, he only had to get one to yield. Cut the head off the snake, and what can the body do? 

He grinned to himself, sharp and maddened. His other self would be grateful, he was sure. Besides, they were the same, just from different universe’s. Their desires, their wants and needs...surely they’d also be the same. He had wanted the Uchiha. Surely, this version did too. 

But this version of Madara was smarter, sharper. He burned brighter. He’d have to be smart about it. 

Pacing the lab, Tobirama thought, cataloging everything he knew about the Uchiha. Then he stopped, and smiled. For all of his strengths, Madara had a very, very big weakness. A certain younger brother that he’d do anything to protect. Ohhh, this was going to be fun. 

Without further adieu, he reached for the mark he had placed on the walls outside of the Uchiha compound, pleased that his other self had done the same. With a familiar rush of power, he hirashined away. 

~*~*~

It was almost the middle of the night, and he was irritated by what he found. He always hid the fact that he had a very short temper, but now, with no one around, he didn’t bother. He paced and growled to himself, glaring at the barrier seals in his way. 

Freaken Uzumaki. He had wiped out that clan in his world. They had tried to help the Uchiha, the compassionate bastards. Not, not helped. They had tried to trick the Uchiha, luring them away from their freedom under the Senju. Tobirama had very swiftly put their treachery to an end. The Uchiha belonged to the Senju, and he would defend their property. 

But he was never one to let obstacles stand in his way. With a flare of his senses, he located the central seal. In barriers such as this, the main source of power came from one seal, and it was enhanced and spread out through 4 seals strategically placed around it. 

Aha, there! It took him a few minutes of leisurely walking to get there. It was on the back wall that surrounded the Uchiha district, hidden by a group of trees that grew very close to it. With a simple flare of his chakra and a lazy wave of his hand, the trees bent away from the wall. 

Humming thoughtfully, he crouched before the seal. It was a large tag, nearly three feet by two feet. Powerful, but simple. Did his other self not have as extensive a knowledge of Uzumaki seals as he did if they thought this would hold him back? Probably not. He had taken all their secrets for himself when he exterminated them. This reality still had the troublesome clan hanging around, and the Uzumaki did not reveal their secrets lightly. 

Pleased at having found yet another advantage over his other self, Tobirama set to work. Slowly and meticulously, he peeled away the protections around the seal, funneling the chakra around it into the ground, where it dispersed harmlessly. 

At long last, he drew a kunai, slashing through the ink painted onto the tag. The paper tore, and with a dim flash of light, the power of the seal melted away. The heavy, oppressive chakra hanging around the Uchiha district faded. 

With a pleased grin, Tobirama masked his chakra, effortlessly scrambling over the wall and hopping down lightly on the other side. At least the layout was almost the exact same. He made his way down familiar streets, ducking into shadows whenever he saw someone. 

It was so strange, so wrong, to see Uchiha walking around without their white clothes, the cloth wound around their eyes. But it wouldn’t be so for much longer. The thought had him grinning again, sharp and pleased. Ah, he couldn’t wait. His other self would be so pleased! 

When he finally arrived at his destination, he scanned the side of the building, locating a window. Silently, he scaled the wall, opening the window without a sound and lightly stepping down onto the floor. 

The room was messier than he was expecting. His version of the Uchiha was much more neat, more meticulous. But, he had had to beat such a habit into him. This version hadn’t had that discipline yet. 

His eyes fell on the person curled on the bed, mouth partly open, long hair free of its ponytail. Oh yes, that’s right. Izuna used to wear his hair long. He had chopped it to his ears after taking his eyes. 

Silently, he prowled forward. Then, all in the same movement, he lunged forwards, smashing a nearby vase and leaping onto the unsuspecting Uchiha.

Just as he predicted, Izuna’s eyes flung open as the vase shattered, surging upright, only to be slammed right back down by Tobirama pouncing on him. Swiftly, Tobirama pinned his hands down with one of his, the seal in his palm already ready, and wiggled his free hand around to the back of his neck, searing the seal into his skin. 

“Be silent, and still,” Tobirama ordered, leaning back and smirking down at him. Izuna could only stare up at him, eyes dark and outraged. He didn’t say a thing, not did he move. Ah, the obedience seal was a beautiful thing. If only he had created it so much sooner. He could have used it on Madara. But that wouldn’t be so fun. 

“I am not your world's version of Tobirama,” he said to Izuna. “Your Tobirama had a bit of an accident with a space-time jutsu. He pulled me out of my world, and brought me here. I assume he’s in mine.” He ran his fingers under Izuna’s eyes, so tempted to sink his fingers into the sockets and pluck them out, just as he had years before. Izuna had screamed and thrashed so nicely, automatically screaming out for his dead brother. 

“In my world, you’re blind,” he said, shrugging in a helpless way. “And you’re so nicely obedient and quiet. You haven’t had that training yet. It’ll come, eventually. But not to worry, Izuna. I am not here for you. You see, in my world, I killed your brother. Oh, he bled so nicely, died so beautifully.” 

Tobirama’s wicked grin widened at the look on Izuna’s face. The outrage was melting into fear, not for himself, but for his brother. “But not to worry,” he continued, cheerfully. “Killing Madara is a regret of mine. I won’t make the same mistake here.” He tapped the back of Izuna’s neck. “This here is an obedience seal. You will be compelled to obey my every word, my every wish. You can try to fight it, but you will always yield. You won’t have a choice. And I happen to know that Madara would do anything for his beloved little brother…. Anything.” 

He ran his fingers down Izuna’s cheek, delighting in the panic in his eyes. “I am glad I never killed you. You sure do come in handy sometimes.” He stood up, releasing Izuna from his hold, and made his way back to the window. “You will not speak of this meeting. You will forget about the obedience seal. You will not try to tell anyone about it, or hint towards its presence, nor will you try to remove it or have others remove it. If you do, you will be exposed to excruciating pain. And I can link your seal to the one I will place on Madara. You wouldn’t want to hurt your dear brother, would you?” 

Izuna looked utterly despairingly. “You will not try to get any help, or warn your brother or any other Uchiha. Or anyone in the village, for that matter. You will sit here, quietly, and go back to sleep. I’ll see you around, Izuna.” 

With that, he slipped out the window, closing it behind him and dropping down to the ground. Pleased as a cat that had caught its prey, he sauntered through the dark streets, pausing in the shadows if he saw anyone, and then moving on. 

Making sure his chakra was still masked, he entered a building near the middle of the Uchiha district, silently making his way up the stairs and to the bedroom. He slipped in without a sound, and with a lazy wave of his hand, grew vines over the window, in the off chance that someone was high up and looking in. 

He prowled closer to the bed. For such a proud, mighty man, Madara slept like a kitten, curled up into a ball, wild hair falling over his face and spreading out on the sheets beneath him. The corner of his mouth curled up, and he reached out, brushing his cool fingers against warm skin. 

He felt his chakra stir, growing a little stronger. Satisfied, Tobirama released the cape over his own chakra. Just as he suspected, Madara bolted awake, surging up, dark eyes spinning into Sharingan. Tobirama sprang on him, pinning him with his superior weight and size. Madara had always been fast, agile, slippery. But he didn’t have the physical strength that any of the Senju had. It was hard to keep him down, but once he was in grasp, he couldn’t escape. 

Madara thrashed and snarled under him; fists, elbows, and knees driving into his soft parts. Tobirama growled, annoyed, managing to seize the Uchiha’s wrists and pin them down beside his head. 

“Stop it,” he grumbled. Madara leaned back a little, and raised one finely shaped eyebrow. Then he planted one foot, and hiked his other leg up, bending it at the waist. Tobirama only had a moment to be impressed with his display of flexibility before the back of Madara’s left thigh crossed over Tobirama’s neck and hooked over his shoulder. 

With a grunt, Madara flexed and twisted, the leg over his neck and shoulder forcefully pushing Tobirama off and to the side, quickly and powerfully. Tobirama dropped off the bed with a curse, leaping back to his feet and making a wild grab for him.

With a roar of heat, Madara burst into fire, standing near the foot of the bed and glaring venomously at him. The flames licked over his skin, his clothes, his hair. It didn’t burn him, just curled beautifully over him. “What do you think you’re doing here?” Madara snarled, the fire in his hands flaring with intensity. 

“I am rectifying a wrong I made in my reality,” he said calmly, straightening and staring down the Uchiha. He just snorted, unimpressed with him. 

“You plan to correct an error made in YOUR reality in a DIFFERENT reality? You’re even dumber than my version of Tobirama.”

“Am I?” he asked cooly, and Madara’s red eyes blazed brighter. He held up a small piece of paper, displaying the obedience seal he had just used on Izuna. “Do you know what this is?” he drawled. Madara gave it just a tiny glance, his gaze disdainful. 

“A piece of very flammable paper,” he deadpanned. Tobirama grinned. 

“This is an obedience seal,” he said, watching with delight as Madara’s jaw tightened. “I used it on all the Uchiha in my reality. And also, this version of Izuna.” Just as he predicted, Madara went ramrod still, his eyes blazing with fury. The fire all over him flared, brighter and hotter. 

“How dare you,” he snarled. “I will kill you, Senju.” 

“Will you?” Tobirama challenged. “Before you do, let me explain how this works. Izuna is compelled to obey my every wish, my every order. If I tell him to go to the kitchen, boil some water, and dump it on his head, he will. If I tell him to leap off a building, he will. I don’t even really have to say anything. I just have to think it, and Izuna will do it. I could merely think of Izuna killing himself, running his own blade through his heart, and he will do it.” 

Madara had gone deathly still, but his hands were shaking. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Tobirama asked, gliding a little closer. “Izuna will do whatever I want him to do. And I happen to know that you care so very much for your dear baby brother. You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you? Anything to protect him, to keep him healthy, happy, safe….” 

“What are you playing at?” Madara asked. Tobirama was pleased to hear his voice come out shaky. “What do you want?” 

“I want to rectify my wrong,” he drawled. “My version of Madara is dead, but you are even better. You burn hotter, more rebelliously, defiantly.” 

“What do you want?!” Madara demanded again, his voice raising in volume and pitch. Tobirama grinned. 

“I want you to surrender to me,” he purred, coming even closer. Madara took a step back. “You will do everything I ask, no matter what it is. You will obey my every wish and whim. You will do as I say. And if you do not, a single thought, and your dear little brother is dead. I am not above putting more obedience seals on other Uchiha. I could take out your clan in a night, Uchiha. You don’t want that, do you? Uchiha’s are so focussed on their clan, their family. You would do anything to protect them and your brother. You would even give yourself up to me, wouldn’t you?” 

Madara’s flames burned, but Tobirama ignored them, reaching out to brush some of his flaming hair from his eyes, away from that devastatingly beautiful, defiant face. “Wouldn’t you, Madara?” 

The Uchiha breathed out shakily, hands curling into fists. “What do you want?” he repeated once again, softer, quieter. Tobirama tsked quietly, leaning in so his lips were just grazing his ear. The fire on his skin burned him, but he didn’t care. He healed fast, and he was used to the pain. 

“I want you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will normal Tobirama find out exactly what's going on?


	3. Manipulated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama's an a-hole here. But like, ALt.Tobirama. Not the normal one. Normal one is lowkey panicking. 
> 
> #content warning. Madara kinda suffers here. And by kinda I mean he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, WOW! I was not expecting people to actually enjoy this! This was just a scrap of an idea I had one and I not want to work on university crap so I'm doing this instead and whoa. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos <3 It actually helps me keep going. I tend to loose motivation very quickly :/

~*~*

Tobirama strode quietly over the well maintained lawn, heading towards this reality’s version of his brother, sitting in front of a koi pond, careful fingers brushing over a flower petal. He had never been a nervous, hesitant man. But for some reason, his pace slowed now. 

He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Izuna had stopped, waiting quietly for him. He couldn’t shake the feeling of how horribly wrong it was. Izuna never did as he was told, always throwing back a snarky comment or poorly concealed insult. He only listened to Madara. 

Who was dead in this universe. The thought had him flinching a little. How would HE kill Madara? Assuming that there were some similarities between him and this other version of himself, why would he want to see that bright fire burnt out? 

This reality’s version of Hashirama turned around when he heard him. He was just as he was in his own world; tall and broad and strong. His chakra still felt warm, but it was muted. Locked away, in a matter of speaking. 

Hashirama blinked at him, hands withdrawing from the flower. “You’re not Tobirama,” was the first thing he said. Tobirama stared at him for a moment. “At least, not the Tobirama I know, are you?” he continued, tossing a few bread crumbs into the pond. Its surface rippled as the koi fish hungrily snatched them up. 

Well. At least that was out of the way already. “No,” he said finally, pausing beside him and watching the fish. Hashirama hummed. 

“I can guess,” he said. “Your space-time jutsu?” 

“How did-”

“My Tobirama tried it too,” Hashirama broke in. “He got distracted and lost interest in it though. He had to...deal….with Madara.” 

“He killed him,” Tobirama stated. Hashirama flinced, a shadow over his face. 

“Yes. Even though I pleaded with him not to. I watched Madara fight and die. But better that than the alternative. I would never forgive myself for subjugating Madara to a life of such pain and hurt.”

“You mean with taking the Uchiha’s eyes and powers,” Tobirama assumed. To his surprise, Hashirama shook his head. 

“No. Well, yes, that too. But more.” He tossed some more bread into the pond. “My Tobirama didn’t want to kill Madara. He wanted to destroy him, mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Rip him apart and put him back together the wrong way, leaving a shattered man behind.” The other Senju sighed, sounding so sad and dismayed that Tobirama automatically put a hand on his shoulder. “I am glad, really, that Madara died in that fight. That Tobirama forgot his own strength. He can rest now, undisturbed. Living would be so much worse.”

Tobirama was quiet for a moment. “How did you know I wasn’t your version of Tobirama?” he asked finally. 

Hashirama made a low sound at the back of his throat. “Tobirama took my power, my Mokuton, but not all of it. I can still sense the life in the plants around me. I can help them grow still. And I can sense the Mokuton in him. You do not have it. Your presence is as it was before he obtained my power.” 

“How did he?” Tobirama asked, curious despite himself. Hashirama laughed. It was cold, regretful. It sounded so wrong coming from his cheerful brother's mouth. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it hurt when he did. Imagine your inmost core, your very life force, being ripped from your chest, and having something empty and cold shoved back in its place.” He ran his fingers along the stem of a flower. Tobirama detected a very small flare of chakra, and the plant grew a little taller. It reminded Tobirama of when Hashirama first discovered his power, and ran around helping all the flowers in the Senju compound grow bigger. 

“So, where is my brother then?” Hashirama asked. “If you are here, I assume he is not.” 

“It was a space-time jutsu,” Tobirama confirmed. “Matter cannot simply cease to exist. But it can be replaced. I assume he and I swapped places. He must be in my version of reality, while I am here….” He trailed off, suddenly feeling a stab of fear and horror. Hashirama. The Uchiha. Madara. 

“Oh, Sage,” he whispered. “How mad is this version of myself?” 

Hashirama gave him a compassionate look, as if he knew exactly where his thoughts were going. “Insanely.” 

He had to get home. NOW. 

Giving Hashirama a despairingly look, he turned and his heel, reaching for his hirashin marker on his lab, and teleporting away. 

~*~*~*~  
*Alt. Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~~*

Madara’s dark eyes were just as prettily defiant here as they were before. He reached forward, quickly, pressing the seal against the back of Madara’s neck. An obedience seal, not as strong as the one he had placed on Izuna. After all, where was the fun in having Madara just give in and do as he said? 

He did want that. But he also wanted to see the progress. He wanted to watch Madara let go of all his pride and defiance and submit to him, slowly, angrily. He wanted to see him bright with anger, but bowing anyways, all by his own accord. Of course, if he took it too far the seal would kick in eventually. But the journey was just as enjoyable as the destination. 

Madara hissed when his hand made contact, flinching away, but the damage was done. The seal imprinted on his skin, flaring brightly and then fading from view. The Uchiha’s hand smacked his away. 

Tobirama allowed it. This time. 

“Fuck you,” Madara spat, taking a step forward and shoving him. It was stronger than he was anticipating, and he took a step back to balance himself. 

“I’d rather fuck you,” he said absentmindedly, enjoying the way Madara froze in step, eyes widening in surprise and fury. 

“You psychopath,” he growled. His hands lit with fire, and he lashed out at him. Tobirama ducked, grabbing his wrist and spinning him around. He yanked Madara back against his chest, grabbing for his other hand and twisting it. 

A sudden pain in his foot signalled Madara stomping his heel on it. A much brighter flare of pain in his groin from Madara bending his knee and bringing his foot up to kick him in the crotch. He hissed, and grunted when a sharp elbow drove under his sternum. The last straw was a blur of black hair and pain erupting from his nose as Madara slammed the back of his head into his face. 

“You fucking demon,” Tobirama snarled, as Madara twisted free, putting some space between them. The Uchiha’s eyes burned red. How pretty. Perhaps he’d let Madara keep his eyes. Imagining him without them didn’t grant such an appealing image. 

“You’re one to talk,” Madara snapped back. The fires in his hands crawled further up his arms. It was an interesting sight. His Madara had never been able to do that. So how was this one doing it? Summoning and controlling the flames that raged within without a single hand sign? Fascinating. 

Tobirama smiled. This was going to be better than he expected. He lunged at Madara, and the smaller Uchiha spun away, his flaming hand pressing against his back and flaring hotly. He was surprised at how uncomfortable it was. 

He whirled around nearly at the same time, grabbing. Madara leaned back in the nick of time, and his fingers closed around empty air, a hair's breadth from his dark yukata. But it was no matter. 

His hands missed, but his feet didn’t. Powerfully, like a mighty dragon sweeping its tail, he kicked Madara’s legs from underneath him, grinning at the startled yelp it brought as the Uchiha staggered down. He sprang just as he nearly caught himself, knocking him onto his back and sending a few picture frames on the wall wobbling and falling down.

Madara spit and cursed and bit, his nails sharp and scratching. He raked them nastily down his face, and Tobirama wouldn’t be surprised if the skin had broken. It certainly burned enough for it. 

Tobirama let him snarl and bite and and swear, kicking and clawing at him. He was broad and heavy. The Uchiha could kick at him all he wanted, he didn’t care. He was no stranger to pain. 

“Izuna,” he said suddenly, grinning when Madara jerked underneath him, one of his legs between his thighs. He leaned forward a little more, his grin sharpening when his erection pressed against him. “Take your blade and sever the tendons of your right wrist.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Madara nearly bellowed, heaving mightily. Much to his surprise, Madara flung one leg over his hip, straightening the other along his bent knee. With a powerful twist, he scissored Tobirama’s legs to the side, rolling them over and reversing their positions, so he was pressing Tobirama down instead of the other way around. His hands flared with fire again, and his fingers curled around his neck. 

Then, he hissed, one hand abruptly weakening. His other automatically let go to clutch his right wrist. “You and Izuna are linked,” Tobirama drawled, watching Madara’s dark eyes widen and stare at him in disbelief. “Any pain he feels, you will feel. Anything you feel, he will feel.” He sat up, large hands curling around Madara’s hips. His lips brushed over Madara’s shoulder, his neck. 

“You wouldn’t want your brother to hurt, would you?” he crooned. “And now you know that my threat was not an empty one. Your brother will do whatever I demand. And there’s nothing. You. Can. Do. About. It.” 

He took the shell of Madara’s ear between his teeth, enjoying the way the Uchiha shuddered over him. “So you’ll be good for me, won’t you, Madara?” he continued, his voice a gentle croon. He ran his hand up Madara’s chest, over his neck and to his cheek, cupping his face. It was gentle, tender. It could have been mistaken as a lovers caress. “You’ll let me have you, won’t you?” he drawled. “For Izuna’s sake….” 

“You’re sick,” Madara whispered. Tobirama leaned back to watch his face. He was even paler than usual, and looked faintly sick. He hummed in agreement. 

“Yes, I am,” he agreed. Sue him. Knowing he was nuts was the first step. “You’ll get used to it. Now, be a good little Uchiha and sit quietly for a little bit, won’t you?” 

Madara gave a tiny growl, stiffening. Tobirama leaned in, parting his lips and running them over his jaw, down his neck, pulling the collar of his yukata aside to mouth at his collarbone and shoulder. He left wet, open mouthed kisses over his skin. Madara was still as a statue, perched over his thighs. 

That wouldn’t do. With a distinct feeling of glee, he bit down hard on his neck. The Uchiha automatically flinched away, hands lifting to his chest to shove him back. He caught his wrists, squeezing them hard. A warning. 

Madara froze again, and he moved to the other side of his neck, biting hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. He licked and sucked at the wound, pleased when Madara squirmed uncomfortably above him. He shifted both of Madara’s wrists into one hand, reaching behind him with the other and grabbing his ass, yanking him closer. His clothed erection brushed against his thigh, and he heard Madara’s breath catch. So what if fighting made him hard? A healthy dose of danger didn’t hurt anyone. 

With a final nibble, he pulled his lips away from the bite wound, moving higher under to suck a mark under his jaw. Madara shook above him with barely restrained rage as he bit and licked and sucked at his neck, decorating the pale skin with a myriad of hickies. He bruised just as beautifully as he bled. Tobirama could get used to this. 

“I’m sure Izuna appreciates your cooperation,” he drawled, brushing his lips up and over his jaw. “I know I do….” 

Without any hesitation, he finally dove in, pressing his lips against the Uchiha’s, forcing his lips apart and licking into his mouth. Madara, who had tolerated his affections to his neck, was not in the mood for this. 

Growling in the back of his throat, he bit down on Tobirama’s lip. Hard. 

Good, fiery little Uchiha. Tobirama chuckled, seizing Madara’s hands when he shoved at him and held them against his chest, restraining. He moved them both to one hand, reaching up with the other to fist his wild, spiky hair and yank, drawing Madara closer to him. 

Apparently, Madara had had enough. With a violent flare of his chakra, he drove his knee into his arousal, making Tobirama grunt. His grip loosened, just a little, but it was enough. Like a weasel, Madara twisted free, surging to his feet and leaping away. 

“How dare you,” he spat, wiping blood and saliva from his mouth. Tobirama watched the sight, licking his own bloodiest lips. “How dare you touch me and threaten Izuna. The only reason I have not burned you to ash is because we have to keep you somewhat alive for our Tobirama to come back.” 

“IF he comes back,” Tobirama purred. He prowled gracefully to his feet, striding towards him. Sick satisfaction curled in his gut when Madara stepped back from him, wary. He sprang forward again. 

Madara saw him coming, quickly moving aside, but Tobirama wrapped a hand around his arm, yanking him back and pinning him thoroughly against the wall. He bit down on his shoulder, and Madara snarled, clawing at his face. This time he definitely drew blood. 

“Izuna, go and find your sharpest blade,” he drawled. Madara went so still it was comical. 

“Don’t.” 

“What happens next is up to you, Madara,” he drawled. “Your brother's safety and wellbeing is in your hands, you know. All you have to do is listen to me. Is that really so hard? Will you not give up your pride for the sake of your last little brother?” 

“You’re a monster.” The Uchiha’s voice dipped into an appealing growl 

“Yes,” he agreed. “Sometimes a monster is what’s needed. Wouldn't you agree?” He trailed one hand down Madara’s neck, pressing down into the marks on his neck. To his credit, Madara didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head back and glared at him. 

Tobirama preened. How he loved looking down at the Uchiha leader, having his larger form cover him so thoroughly. “In my world, I went about it the wrong way,” he admitted, taking a strand of his wild hair and coiling it around his finger. “I wasn’t quite so tactful. I just tried to beat you down, but instead I killed you. I see now that isn’t the way to go about it with you, is it? Your body and your pride is too strong. But your heart….that’s the way to break you, mhm?” 

His fingers tightened, pulling, forcing him to crane his neck back a little more. “How long will you last?” he mused, more to himself. “How long until you give yourself to me?” 

“I will never,” Madara vowed between gritted teeth. Tobirama smiled. 

“Oh, but don’t you see? You will. If you want to protect poor Izuna.” He lifted his hands, pushing down on Madara’s shoulders. “Make yourself useful, darling. On your knees.” 

As he predicted, Madara’s chakra flared and he burst into flame. “Izuna, slit your wrist,” he ordered. 

“Wait!” 

“Izuna, stop.” He tilted his head at Madara, lips quirking up at his outburst. The Uchiha stared back at him, his breath a little quick. “What is it, Madara? Do you have something to say? Or rather, something to do?” 

Madara swallowed thickly, and slowly, reluctantly, dropped to his knees. “Good,” Tobirama praised, running his fingers through his hair. Madara’s eyes were dark, full of rage and hate, and he smiled. Deciding to do them both a favour, he undid his own belt, tugging his pants out of the way for his erection to spring free. 

“As much as I enjoy hearing you growl and snap at me, your mouth has a much better purpose.” He pushed Madara’s head closer. “Why don’t you go ahead and put it to use?” 

Madara pursed his lips, and Tobirama could almost see the war going on in his head. “I could always find Izuna again,” he pondered outloud. “He looks like you. Maybe he’ll feel as good as you will.” He glanced down, watching the fury cross Madara’s face. “Make a choice, Madara. You, or him?” 

He already knew what he’d choose. He was such a good big brother. With a shudder, Madara turned his face in, parting his lips. Tobirama wasted no time in shoving into his mouth, groaning at the wet heat that enveloped him. 

“If you dare to bite, I will rip Izuna’s teeth out,” he threatened. Madara just glared darkly up at him, and he thrust in shallowly. “Come on, you can do better than that,” he scolded, not content to have Madara just sit back and do nothing. “As sharp as your tongue is, I’m sure you can find other uses for it.” 

Madara’s hands clenched in the fabric of his yukata, trembling in fury. Just as Tobirama was about to scold him again, he sucked down hard on his length, drawing his tongue along the underside of him at the same time. 

Tobirama groaned, both hands sinking down to Madara’s hair. He started to thrust into him, hard and fast, grinning when Madara choked, half coughing around him. “Keep it up, Uchiha,” he purred. “I know that’s not all you can do.” 

With a distinct curl of his upper lip, Madara scraped his teeth along his length, swirling his tongue and sucking hard. His throat constricted as he swallowed, and Tobirama grunted, thrusting hard and shoving Madara’s face closer. 

“There you go,” he drawled, thrusting hard and grinning at the saliva trickling from the corner of Madara’s mouth. Tears were forming automatically in his eyes, a natural reaction of the body to this abuse it was taking. Oh, this was so much better than he imagined it would be. How long he had wanted the great Uchiha Madara on his knees for him. 

And now, here he was, erection in his mouth, spit and tears on his face, pressed between his body and the wall. He had desired this for so long. 

Losing all pretense of patience and control, he curled his fingers painfully hard into his hair, thrusting hard and fast into his mouth, chasing his own end. 

When Madara hummed softly, throat vibrating around him, Tobirama came, spilling down Madara’s throat and thrusting into his mouth still, forcing him to take it. The Uchiha choked and coughed, sputtering around him. 

Satisfied, Tobirama pulled back, tucking himself away and redoing up his belt. All the while, he watched the Uchiha cough, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Unable to help himself, he crouched down in front of him, hauling him forwards and kissing him again, tongue invading his mouth and tasting himself. 

He groaned softly, licking into his mouth and very much enjoying the way Madara tensed, nails digging into his wrists, trying to get him to let go. He let go with one hand, reaching down and grabbing at Madara’s crotch. 

He was completely soft. That was surprising. He pulled back, raising an eyebrow at the Uchiha. He glared back, slapping Tobirama’s hand away. “No reaction?” he mused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That’s certainly interesting. Do you have no attraction to me?” 

“No,” Madara snapped, shoving Tobirama back and standing. “Get the hell out of my house.” 

Tobirama leaned back on his heels, unimpressed, but intrigued with this new development. “I suppose you may have presented an interesting problem,” he said thoughtfully. “It won’t be nearly so satisfying for me unless you show some interest in me too. How to solve this…” 

“GET OUT!” Madara bellowed, his body erupting into flame again. Tobirama grinned, standing up. He had had his fun. And it would take time for Madara to break. He’d take his time, chip away at his cracks until he was utterly broken. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Madara,” he drawled. “Izuna, put your knives away and go to sleep.” He wanted to touch Madara again, but figured he had probably pushed the Uchiha enough for one night. “Sleep well,” he offered, striding out of the room. 

He was already out the house and striding away when an enormous column of fire erupted from the yard behind the house. 

A smile, cold and satisfied, tugged at his lips. He would have to thank his other self, if he could. This was the most interesting thing to happen to him in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, what to do next? How will this unveil? :D


	4. Science Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see the after. 
> 
> Also, SCIENCE! Loosely based on some physics principles... I haven't taken a physics course since high school and I'm in Uni studying health... Totally unrelated. Sue me if it's a little inaccurate. But to the best of my knowledge, it's pretty dang close.

~*~*~

As much as he was loath to admit it, Madara had been right. Tobirama really should have done a little more research before testing out his new jutsu. ‘Space and time is nothing to play around with,’ he remembered Madara saying. ‘Who knows what could happen if you screw up?’ 

Apparently, this. 

Tobirama shoved his papers away with a frustrated groan. Maybe he SHOULD listen to the Uchiha’s advice every once in a while. After all, he was ‘older, wiser, and prettier.’ Madara’s words, not his. 

But whenever he parroted that at him, Tobirama would gibe back by calling him ‘smaller, weakier, and pointier.’ The suffocating smoke that would follow was worth it considering how huffy the fire breathing porcupine would get. Tobirama was not above admitting that riling up the Uchiha was one of his favorite pastimes, much to Hashirama’s dismay. 

He tapped his fingers on the paper closest to him. It was an exact replica of what he had used before. But if he did it again, would he go back to his own world? Would he and other Tobirama change places again? Or, could he possibly open a rift to a third dimension, trade places with another different Tobirama, and royally screw things up even more? 

Of course, NOW he was taking the Uchiha’s advice. After it had backfired and landed him in another dimension. Whoever said he was a genius. Pfft. 

With a sigh, he spun his chair around, staring at the lab. It was almost the same as his own. Just a few differences. A few locked cabinets. Some unfamiliar books. 

Having come to a block with his work, he pushed himself up to his feet, striding over to one of the cabinets, and crouching before the lock. It was a coded number lock. He tilted his head at it. 4 numbers, between 0-9. 

8553

The lock clicked open, and he grinned. There was another similarity. He wiggled the lock off, setting it aside, and pulling the door open. It was neatly organized, just like everything else. Pulling out the bottom draw, he examined the subdivisions and categories it was organized into. 

At first glance, just looking at the folder titles, he was confused. Jutsus, perhaps? Then he pulled out one of the files, flipping it open and examining the ink painted onto the papers. 

Seals. Of Uzumaki design. 

He flipped through a few more files, easily identifying them all as belonging to the Uzumaki clan. They had a very distinctive style. But some of these seals...they were powerful. Why would they give them up? 

As he pondered the reasonings behind this discovery, he came to a realization. He could feel the signatures of Senju, Uchiha, Sarutobi, Nara, Yamanaka, Akimichi, Inuzuka, Haruno, Hyuuga, and a few more. But not a single Uzumaki. 

He flared his senses, fine tuning them to pick up on the Uzumaki’s distinctive presence. But...there was nothing. Not a single one. 

If there were no Uzumaki in the village….but all their seals were here….

“Izuna!” he called. A moment later, the blind Uchiha was descending slowly, but confidently down the stairs. He must be in here a lot to be so familiar with it. 

“Yes, lord first?” Izuna asked, bowing deeply. Urgh, that was so, so wrong. On so many levels. 

“Tell me, what happened to the Uzumaki clan?” he asked, leaning back on his heels. Normally, he would say please. But from what he could tell, and after another conversion with this reality’s Hashirama, this Tobirama was rude and demanding. A dictator. He had to do his best to imitate that to avoid suspicion. 

“Three years ago, the Uzumaki clan attempted to usurp the Senju and steal the Uchiha from under their protection,” Izuna said, voice falling back into that textbook recital voice. “Under the rule of the first Hokage, the Senju rose up and utterly destroyed the Uzumaki. Their bloodline was demolished and ground into the dust. Lord Senju Tobirama obtained the knowledge of their mighty seals for himself, and has since used this power to further protect Konoha.” 

Tobirama hummed quietly, looking back at the cabinet and the hundreds of seals. The scientific side of him was dying to know more, to devour the knowledge they held. But he held back, for now. 

“Lord Hokage?” Izuna asked, a little tentatively. 

“Yes, Izuna?” he said, a little distractedly. The Uchiha hesitated. 

“May I ask why you’ve been asking me such questions lately? You know of Konoha’s past better than anyone else.” 

Tobirama paused, momentarily feeling a thrill of excitement. Izuna may be blind, powerless, and unusually subdued. But he was still sharp as a knife, observant. 

“Can I tell you a secret, Izuna?” he said, closing the cabinet and locking it again. Normally, he wouldn’t say this. But Izuna was familiar, and he had to speak of this to someone other than this version of Hashirama, who was so sad and despairing. 

“Of course,” Izuna said immediately. “Your seal forbids me from sharing any detail about you or your tasks.” 

The what that did what? 

Urghhhhhhh, this other Tobirama was so annoying. “I am not Tobirama,” he said. Izuna jerked, head lifting in surprise. “At least, not the Tobirama you know.” He reorganized some papers again. “I am from another world….another reality. A jutsu I was experimenting with went wrong, and I somehow switched places with the Tobirama from this world. In my reality, my brother is Hokage. The Uchiha are free and they have their sight, and your brother is alive and well.” 

Izuna’s mouth fell open. “M-Madara?” he breathed, as if he hadn’t heard the rest. “Madara is alive?” Tobirama nodded, then remembered that Izuna couldn’t see. 

“Yes. He advises Hashirama.” 

Izuna’s hands were trembling. “And what of you?” he asked, hesitantly, like he feared he would be struck. “What are you in this different world?” 

“I am merely Tobirama Senju. Brother of the Hokage and co-founder of Konoha.” 

“Do you have the Mokuton?” 

“No. Although I am curious as to how this Tobirama ever found that power….” 

“Madara is really alive?” Izuna asked again. Tobirama stared at him for a moment. In this world, his brother had been dead for almost four years. He had been a slave for almost just as long. 

“Yes.” 

“And….” Izuna’s face grew pale. “And the Tobirama Senju that I know….he’s in your world? With Madara?” 

“Yes.” 

Izuna’s breath hitched. “No...no, no. You have to go. Go back, you have to stop him! If you are anything like the Tobirama Senju you were years ago, you have to stop him!” 

“I don’t know how to get back,” Tobirama said, reluctantly. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, but there’s something missing.” 

“What’s missing?” Izuna asked, sounding impatient. Tobirama threw his hands up in frustration. 

“Well, I don’t know. If I did I would have fixed it already!” Then he realized something. “Wait, Izuna. Back up. What do you mean, by ‘the Tobirama Senju you were years ago?’” 

Izuna gave him a look. Kind of. “You remind me of how….this worlds Tobirama Senju used to be. Years ago. Actually a little bit nice. Honourable, even. But then you changed.” 

“How?” 

“I don’t know. You just...did.” 

“You’re taking the whole ‘I’m from another world and switched places with your Tobirama’ better than I thought you would.” Izuna smiled a bitter smile. 

“It’s not the most bizarre thing to happen here, other Tobirama. I get the distinct feeling that our worlds, while similar, are also vastly different. The fact that you think you are from another dimension really isn’t all that weird.” 

“Why not?” 

“Things stop surprising you soon enough.” The Uchiha stretched out his hand, fingertips brushing against the countertop. “What do you need to figure out how to get home?” he asked. Tobirama thought carefully for a moment. 

“Someone who knows what they’re doing,” he muttered finally. “If the Uzumaki were alive…. Maybe a Nara, if they’re as smart as they are in my world.” 

Izuna went very still, then slowly came closer. Tobirama held still as he reached out, fingertips brushing over his face, coming over the red marks on his face. He inhaled shakily. 

“What is it?” he asked finally, frowning. 

“You’re telling the truth,” he said wondrously. “In this world, Tobirama Senju’s marks are scars, not tattoos. Your face is smooth, whereas his is not.” 

“That’s your determination of if I’m being truthful or not? What if my marks were scars too?” 

“Oh, but they aren’t. This Tobirama, his scars started off as tattoos too. My older brother turned them into scars. I assume you and Madara….er, get along….somewhat, in your world.” 

Tobirama frowned even deeper when Izuna pulled away, lifting a hand to touch the tattoo on his right cheek. “Will you stay here?” Izuna asked. “I think I know someone who can help.” 

“Who?” he questioned, eager and curious. Izuna shook his head. “I cannot tell you. It puts their lives in danger. If you were the version of Tobirama Senju that I know, you would kill me for revealing this.” 

Izuna reached out again, fingers brushing against the counter. Orientated, he turned and headed back for the stairs. He slowed just a little as the counter turned to hard stone, then trotted up the stairs and was gone. 

Tobirama watched him go, bemused, but hopeful. Izuna had believed him. And so had Hashirama. Was this world perhaps more scientifically inclined that his own? 

Well, time to find out. He stood up, and started hunting through this Tobirama’s notes and books and treasures. Most of it was similar to his own. Some of it caught his eye, but it was nothing he hadn’t already thought of and discarded. Although, this Tobirama seemed to have managed to crack a few jutsu’s that he struggled with. The thought made him frown. 

As he continued investigating the lab, he noticed a small keypad on one of the book shelves, hidden behind a dusty, boring looking book on the top shelf. If he had been shorter, he might have missed it. Fortunately, his Senju genes gave him a lot of height. He towered above most people, except Hashirama and a few other Senju. And an occasional Nara or Yamanaka. 

He pulled the book away, examining the keypad. 7 digit code. This time, it came to him faster. 

7792439\. 

With a colossal moan and creak, the bookshelf started to move. The floor two feet in front of it started to move with it. Despite his battle instincts telling him to jump the hell away, he stood still, the ground under him rotating with the bookshelf. 

With a loud bang, the bookshelf was on the other side of the wall. Lights lit up automatically when it clicked shut, revealing shelves upon shelves of jars. 

Curious, he stepped forward to the closest shelf, blowing off the dust coating the jars and shelves. The jars were filled with some kind of liquid, and on each jar was a metal plate, with a name. 

He reached up, taking one of the jars from the shelf, and wiping the dust from the glass and the nameplate. His heart almost stopped when he saw the name engraved on the plate. ‘Uchiha Azari.’ 

He wiped some more dust off, leaning closer to the jar and turning it. Two small, circular objects were suspended in the jar, floating in the thick liquid. One had a reddish tone to one side of it.

Tobirama hurriedly shoved the jar back, crossing the room and grabbing another. He cleaned it off, and read the plate. ‘Uchiha Sakari’. 

Hands shaking, he started going down the entire row, feeling sicker and sicker. Each and every jar had the clan name Uchiha. He knew what this room was. He knew right from the start. 

In this hidden vault, alternate Tobirama had stashed the stolen eyes of the Uchiha clan. 

~*~*~*

Madara felt sick. Violently so. He had stayed awake the rest of the night, and stood in the shower for nearly an hour, the water so hot it turned his skin red and warm. But he could still feel it, the touch of the other Senju, the leer in his black and red eyes. 

He shuddered, spitting in the sink again. He had brushed his teeth till his gums bled, but he could still taste the salty essence of the Senju. In reality, he couldn’t. But his mind said he could. 

As soon as the sun was up and it was an acceptable time, he left his house, resisting the urge to burn it down, and hurried to Izuna’s. The door opened before he could knock, and his little brother stared up at him, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes. 

Without a word, Madara reached out, taking hold of his right hand and lifting it. He gently pushed back the sleeve, his breath catching when he saw his wrist bandaged thickly. “Izuna…” he whispered, finally looking up at his brother. “I’m so sorry…” 

Izuna grabbed him by the front to his mantle, hauling him into the house and closing the door. As soon as it was shut, he flung himself at Madara, arms curling around him, ducking his face into his neck. He was shaking, Madara realized. His chakra was stirring and churning unhappily. 

“It’s okay,” Madara crooned softly, slowly guiding his brother to the living room and urging him to sit on the couch. Izuna refused to let go, and Madara didn’t make him. “It’s alright, little sparrow. I won’t let him hurt you again. I’m sorry, Izu.” 

Izuna’s breath hitched, and he finally, finally, looked up at him. His eyes were reddened from lack of sleep and the tears leaking free. “I-I couldn’t stop,” he whimpered, his voice so full of uncharacteristic fear that Madara felt his heart break. He instinctively pulled his little brother closer, overcome with the need to comfort and protect. “I almost killed myself, Madara,” Izuna cried, his tears coming faster. “I almost slit my wrist and made myself bleed out. I couldn’t stop it, Mada, I just…” 

“I know,” he said softly, petting his disheveled hair. “I know, Izuna. I know…”

“H-how?” Izuna asked past a quiet sob. Ah, crap. He really hoped Izuna wouldn’t ask. He shifted uncomfortably, not answering, but just humming quietly to his brother to calm him. It took a few minutes for his soft sobs to fade into quiet sniffles. 

“Madara,” he said quietly. 

“Izuna, can you tell me what happened when Tobirama visited you last night?” Izuna’s fingers tightened in his clothes. 

“He came into my room, woke me up. Then he touched the back of my neck, and told me not to talk or move. And I didn’t...I tried to, so bad. But I couldn’t. Then he said he wasn’t the Tobirama I knew and that he came from some other version of reality, where I was blind and you…. You were dead…” 

“Keep going,” Madara encouraged quietly, carding his fingers through his dark locks. Izuna shook his head. 

“I can’t,” he whispered. 

“Why not?” 

Izuna took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “Tobirama said that if I spoke about it or tried to get help it could cause me and you a ton of pain because we’re linked through the seals-”

A wave of unexplainable pain crashed over him, and he groaned, hunching over, one hand pressing against the back of his neck. It was sharp, throbbing, like a hot knife was being plunged into him over and over again. 

Izuna whimpered, going limp next to him. The pain lasted only a little longer, and when it finally faded away, they were both breathing hard, faces screwed up in expressions of pain. “Ow,” Izuna whined. Despite his own discomfort, Madara turned to him, rubbing soothing circles in the back of his neck. 

“Let’s not do that again,” Madara muttered, and Izuna nodded half-heartedly. He curled into his older brother's side, his need for comfort and familiarity overcoming his pride. Madara let him, needing the company just as bad. 

“Madara,” Izuna said after a time. The older Uchiha hummed back in question. Izuna pulled back a little to look up at him. “How did you know about it?” he asked. “How did you know Tobirama came to me last night? And how do you know about this?” He pointed to his bandaged wrist, and Madara looked away with a wince. 

“Madara?” Izuna persisted, starting to reach out to him. He took a few locks of Madara’s hair, combing through them with his fingers as he always did when Madara was upset. His fingers brushed against the collar of his mantle, edging it away from his skin, and he gasped. 

“Anija!” he cried, swiftly rearranging himself and grabbing his collar, pushing it all the way back and staring at the dark bruises and bite marks littering his brother's neck with horror. “A-anija,” he whispered. Madara gently grabbed his wrists, pushing his hands away and letting the collar cover the marks again. 

“I’m sorry, Izuna,” he whispered, and his brother looked aghast. 

“Sorry?!” he cried. “What for?! Did he do that to you?!” 

“He did what he did to you because I wouldn’t listen!” Madara nearly exploded, his anger and humiliation from last night finally bursting with his little brother's emotions. Izuna flinched back, his dark eyes widening in surprise. 

“What?”

Madara raked his fingers through his hair with a frustrated groan. “He hurt you because I wouldn’t do what he wanted,” he said, quietly this time. “He asked me to do something, and I wouldn’t, so he ordered you to slice your arm.” He ran his fingers gently over the bandages, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “I’m so sorry, Izuna. Even after I felt your pain, I defied him. He could have killed you, and it would have been my fault.” 

“No,” Izuna said, taking his brother's face between his hands and shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t your fault that this happened. It’s his. Only his. That is not OUR Tobirama. Our Tobirama would never. This….thing. He’s a monster. Look what he did to us both.” He ran gentle fingers over Madara’s neck, wincing at the bite mark. “Did you clean this?” 

Madara nodded distantly. “As soon as he left.” Izuna hummed, standing up and tugging on Madara’s hand. He led him to the kitchen, sat him down, and cleaned the mark again. Madara let him. If he had someone to take care of, it made him handle his own emotions and pain better. 

“What can we do about this?” Izuna whispered, and Madara sighed, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I would just kill him, but I don’t think we should.” 

“Why not?” Izuna asked, pouring some alcohol on a swab and cleaning the edges of the wound. The burning sting was grounding. 

“Because that’s not how the jutsu would work. I was helping Tobirama create it, and I was there when it went wrong. Think about all those rules and principles of science. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only converted and changed into some other form. Some energy is ‘lost’ at times, so to speak, but it merely just changed into a form we cannot see, understand, or use. Think of two rocks colliding. Their collision generates force, a form of energy. But some energy from their collision is ‘lost’, converting into heat and sound. The rest is similarly dispersed. The same concept applies to this jutsu, only by way of matter, not energy.” 

“Okay. So, what?” 

Madara sighed. “So, just like energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be changed, matter cannot be lost or created either. It can be changed, or replaced. So in order to get our Tobirama back, we have to keep this one so that the exchange of matter between our worlds or dimensions is complete. An imbalance, or excess or loss of matter, could be disastrous.” 

“Disastrous how?” 

“Well, hell if I know! This has never happened before!” Izuna hummed, sticking a thin bandage over Madara’s shoulder and pulling his collar back over it. 

“You should ask Hashirama to heal these,” he said, brushing a finger over the other bruises. Madara winced, and shook his head. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s Hashirama,” Madara shot back, as if that explained everything. Izuna raised an eyebrow. “If he knew this alternate Tobirama did this, he would either kill him or lock him up. Or cry at him. All of which are very ineffective for someone like Senju Tobirama.” 

“I don’t know. Locking him up sounds pretty good.” 

“Does it? How long do you think anything we make can hold him back? He’s stronger than Hashirama, I’d bet my fire on it. And besides, he still has that thing on the both of us, though I think yours might be stronger. If he gets locked away, he could always just order you or me to come and release him. Or he could have either of us wreak havoc on the village…” He trailed off for a moment. “And if he does the Uchiha clan would be ostracized,” he realized with a feeling of dread. Izuna stared back at him in dismay. 

“Our hands are tied, aren’t they?” his little brother whispered in despair. Madara stood slowly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. 

“Yes…. Yes, I think they are. We’ll figure it out, Izuna. For now, I guess just do as he says. We have to protect our clan.” 

“What about you?” Izuna asked, and Madara raised an eyebrow. 

“What about me?” 

“I don’t like the interest he has in you,” he said, waving a hand vaguely at his neck. “He told me he regretted killing you in his world. So, what does he want with you in this one?” 

“I don’t know, Izuna. I really don’t.” 

~*~*~  
*Alt.Tobirama’s Perspective*  
~*~*~

Deep in Konoha, a violent flare of chakra had him lifting his head, his senses reaching out to determine the source. Ah, so the little Uchiha brat was testing his seal. Madara was with him. 

He leaned back, closing his eyes and focusing a little harder. Madara’s chakra was warm usually, but now it was hot, with fury and pain as the seal's effects washed over him and Izuna. Ah, well. They’d figure it out eventually. 

He turned back to the problem at hand, tapping his fingers over the paper. The jutsu other Tobirama had created was good. Very clever, very powerful. And smart. Even he couldn’t figure out how it might have gone wrong. Eh, whatever. It wasn’t his priority, even if it was fascinating. His number one problem was Madara. 

Ah, how to handle him. The very thought of him had his lower regions stirring with interest. That might be a little bit of a problem. If he got aroused just at the thought of him….But the way he had looked last night, dark eyes angry and defiant, swallowing his pride and power. Smoke had curled up from his hair, his flame barely restrained within him. 

Grunting, Tobirama pulled himself from his thoughts. He was glad his other self seemed to have the same obsessive need to stay locked away in his lab when he was working. There was a bed and enough food to last a month. And a shower. He probably needed one of those. 

Mind made up, he stood up, stripped, and washed off, having utterly no shame in remembering the night and the sight Madara had made. Bringing himself to completion was in no way satisfying, but he made it work, conjuring up images of Madara surrendering, yielding beneath him. Ah, he’d gasp and moan so nicely…. 

As he redressed, he wondered if he should try to assimilate into this world. Should he try to behave like this version of Tobirama? 

Nah. That seemed like an effort he didn’t want to put in. Plus, he had much better things to work on. Like the Uchiha issue. Oh, and the Uzumaki thing. They should not be allowed to keep wandering around. 

He pulled down a fresh paper, mulling over the problem. It didn’t take long for inspiration to hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izuna and Madara are A+ siblings 
> 
> Alt.Tobirama is thirsty


	5. Burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama makes friends. 
> 
> Alt.Tobirama makes angry

~*~*~

It was hard not to throw up. Tobirama was a battle hardened shinobi. He had seen and done lots. But this...this was something else. This was the livelihood of an entire clan, all in one room. Hundreds of eyes. Some were onyx black. Others were Sharingan red. Some were neat and perfectly shaped. Others were sliced and squished and mutated. Evidently, some of the Uchiha had put up a fight. 

He left the room soon after, the shelf rotating again, hiding the vault from view. He put the book back over the keypad, slowly making his way back to his desk. What if the other Tobirama tried to do the same thing to his world? To the Uchiha clan there? With his own and Hashirama’s power, he could take down Madara, the only thing that would stand in his way. And Madara would probably die, again. And Izuna would break, again. And Hashirama could die too. 

He had to get home. He had to set things right. 

He heard the door to the lab open, and felt Izuna’s presence coming down the stairs. With him was two others. A Nara, and….an Uzumaki? 

He jolted to his feet as they came down the stairs, pausing just within his lab. Izuna waved a little. “Tobirama,” he said, in greeting. “This is Shiyana Nara. And-”

“Mito,” Tobirama breathed, eyes wide. The Uzumaki gave him a startled look. Just like in his reality, she carried herself with pride and pose. But her hair was dyed ash blond, and her face altered. It was rounder, fuller, less sharp and fierce. 

“You know me?” she asked, suspicious, and he nodded. 

“Where I’m from, you still have red hair. And you are married to my brother.” 

“Ah, yes, Izuna was saying you’re from a different reality.” Mito gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You do feel a little different. And of course, you look different too. A little softer, kinder. Definitely noticeable. You did well hiding yourself away here instead of wandering around.” 

“I had a feeling,” Tobirama said grimly. He glanced at the Nara, who was staring at him with intense black eyes. He didn’t recognize her. 

“Shiyana is the Nara clan heir,” Izuna explained, seeming to pick up on his hesitation despite his blindness. “And I’m sure she’s just as clever as the Nara in your world.” 

“It’s good to meet you,” he said, inclining his head. She nodded back, her dark eyes still careful. 

“I hear you got yanked out of your world and ended up here,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly deep, for a woman. Rough and gravelly. 

“Yeah….somehow.” 

“And you don’t know how?” 

“No, not really.” 

“You have a copy of the jutsu you used?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, hand it over.” She was brusque and demanding, and Tobirama wordlessly obeyed. The Nara woman took the paper, her eyes immediately narrowing with thought. Mito peered over her shoulder, and she turned to place it on the table so they could both examine it. 

Tobirama turned to Izuna. “Mito?” he asked, still a little surprised. Izuna nodded slowly, almost as though he were still hesitant. 

“She created a seal to lock her chakra and her presence away. She hides from our Tobirama. She’s off the radar, but she can still use seals. And now that he’s not here, she released the seal so you could sense her. I brought her here to help.” 

“And the Nara,” Tobirama commented. “Why are you so willing to help me? Why are they?” 

Izuna pursed his lips. “You haven’t been here long,” he said quietly. “And you haven’t seen it yourself. Our version of Tobirama is a tyrant. He lords over us with an iron fist. Any form of rebellion or disobedience is severely punished. Look what he did to the Uchiha. And then the Uzumaki. It’s suspected that the Nara are next. That’s why they are here. Mito wants to avenge her clan, and Shiyana wants to protect hers, before it’s too late.” 

“Wouldn’t the Yamanaka and the Akimichi back them up?” Tobirama asked, surprised. Izuna shrugged. 

“Maybe. Most people are too afraid to act. But the Nara have been protesting Tobirama’s rule for a while. Shiyana plans a coup d'etat.” 

“And why are you telling me this?” Tobirama asked, surprised. “I am still Tobirama Senju, even if I am a different version.” Izuna gave him a look. 

“Because you’re from a reality where my brother lives and Hashirama Senju still has his power.” 

“And?” 

“And in exchange for helping you get back, we want you to help us get rid of our Senju Tobirama.” 

~*~*~*~

He detected a familiar presence leisurely strolling up the hall to his office after hirashining from his lab to the Hokage Tower. 

‘Don’t react,’ he told himself firmly. ‘Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.’ 

Still, it was hard not to jerk and look up when his door swung open and closed just as swiftly. He continued to frown down at his paper, making a note here and there, and moving it to another stack before starting another. 

It was only when the lock to his door clicked very audibly that Madara looked up, smoothing out his face into a carefully blank expression. Not-Tobirama stared down at him, arms crossed over his chest, black and red eyes narrowed with annoyance. 

“Do you need something?” he asked, slightly quirking one eyebrow and looking back down at his paper. Oh, another spelling mistake. For all their genius, the Nara sure were lazy. He absentmindedly circled the misspelled word. 

A hand slammed down on his paper, stopping him from reading further. “Do not ignore me,” Not-Tobirama rumbled. With a sigh, Madara looked up at him again, scowling. 

“In case you can’t see, I have work to do. So if you’d kindly fuck off…” He jabbed the Senju’s hand with his pen, and the writing utensil dug into his hand with a thick trickle of blood. The Senju didn’t even flinch, just continued to stare at him. Madara felt his chakra swirl unhappily, but he pushed it back. 

“That wasn’t wise,” Not-Tobirama growled, his eyes narrowing in irritation. 

“And you aren’t very wise to keep me from my work,” Madara said, leaning back in his hair and crossing his arms with a challengingly raised eyebrow. “I have better things to do than entertain you, Senju. Fuck off.” 

“Oh, fuck indeed,” Not-Tobirama said. Before Madara could snap back, he stepped around the desk, pushing Madara’s chair back and stepping between his knees. His hands fisted in the front of his mantle, hauling him up from his slouch and holding him, half sitting and half standing. 

“Will you try to avoid me, Madara?” he wondered, his strange eyes trailing down from his face and to the bruises on his neck, evident even with his high collar. His eyes grew darker. “I’ll warn you now, it’s not going to work. I can sense you anywhere.” 

Madara swallowed thickly. “How far is the range on Izuna’s seal?” he asked instead of snarling something back. His voice came out steadier than he expected. Not-Tobirama hummed. 

“As far as I can feel him, I can control him.” 

Well, that sucked. Tobirama’s sensory range was enormous. It could nearly encompass the entire Land of Fire if he really tried. Madara made a face, shifting slightly, and letting his feet take his own weight. He straightened, or he did as much as he could with Not-Tobirama right up in his face and his chair bumping the back of his legs. 

“Get out, Senju. I have work to do.” 

“I thought that by now, you’d know to make me your priority when I come.” 

“Yes, well, you’re not. What a shame. News flash, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Senju!” Not-Tobirama growled, grabbing his shoulders and turning them around, so that the edge of Madara’s desk was digging into his lower back. Not-Tobirama leaned in, his breath hot against his cheek. 

“Maybe not yet,” he drawled, his voice dark with promise and making him tense. “But it will. You’ll see. Everything falls into place, eventually.” He lifted his hands to seize fistfuls of Madara’s thick hair. “Even you will have a place, little bird.” 

He swept in, crushing his lips against Madara’s. Immediately, Madara stiffened, hands flying up to shove at his chest and push him away. Not-Tobirama leaned back, just a little, and his fingers curled and pulled painfully tight. 

“Remember Izuna,” he growled, and Madara froze. Remembering how distraught his little brother had been this morning...how panicked at being so out of control of himself…. 

He forced himself to relax, and Not-Tobirama made a pleased sound, diving back in without pretense. This time he forcibly added tongue, licking into his mouth, teeth nipping at his upper lip. How badly Madara wanted to bite down on that stupid piece of muscle, make the Senju bleed the way he had. 

Without thinking, he did just that, and the Senju cursed, pulling back, one hand up to his mouth. For a moment, Madara felt smug. Then he was berating himself. ‘Idiot! He’s going to hurt Izuna again. Stupid, stupid-’

“Good bite,” Not-Tobirama drawled, licking some blood off his lips. “I do so enjoy a little roughness. Both giving and receiving. I’m pleased you caught on.” 

Then he moved in again, kissing him even rougher and sloppier, one hand moving down from his hair to his waist, yanking him closer, while simultaneously pushing him up harder against the desk. 

Madara let him do as he pleased, not responding, but not fighting back either. Not-Tobirama continued to kiss and touch, his broad hand tracing up and down his spine, and his other hand still locked in his hair, alternating between tugging at the locks he held and kneading his scalp. 

Not-Tobirama pulled back suddenly, and Madara sucked in a breath, having had it robbed of him during the kiss. Not-Tobirama gazed down at him, his expression thoughtful. Then, he let go of Madara abruptly, and stepped back. Madara stared up at him, a little surprised, but relieved. 

Then, unexpectedly, he sat down in Madara’s chair, leaning back in it and smirking at him. “Come here,” he invited, patting one of his legs. Madara stayed right where he was, giving the Senju an incredulous look. 

“What.” 

“Come,” Not-Tobirama said again, his voice hardening. Madara stared at him, and he stared right back, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “Right here, little Uchiha,” he continued, patting his thigh again. “Come sit with me.” 

“You’re out of your mind!” Madara hissed, glaring so fiercely it could have set water on fire. He could feel his hands starting to quiver with anger, and he curled his fingers around the fabric of his dark navy mantle to hide it. 

Not-Tobirama looked amused, but also a little irritated. Impatient. “Come,” he ordered, his voice lower and dark. More commanding. 

Madara didn’t move, too busy trying not to spontaneously burst into flame. Not-Tobirama quirked an unamused eyebrow. 

“Alright then. I wonder….What do you think Izuna is up to right now? Would it be a major inconvenience at this point if I got him to smash his own ankles? Ah, but what would he use? A hammer? Or, maybe an axe. Or-”

“Don’t,” Madara broke in. Not-Tobirama’s smirk widened, and he waved to his legs again. He could feel his cheeks flush slightly with humiliation, but he gathered himself, swallowed his pride, and stepped closer. 

Not-Tobirama didn’t move as he hesitantly sat on the Senju’s lap, but his strange eyes nearly glowed with amused delight. Then, he grabbed Madara’s hips, rearranging him more to his liking, so that Madara was straddling his thighs, knees on either side of his hips. 

Madara crossed his arms and glared at him. Even sitting on the Senju’s lap, he had to tilt his head ever so slightly to meet his eyes. His smirk widened. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he drawled, thumbs rubbing circles over his hip bones. 

Madara narrowed his eyes at him. “What game are you playing?” 

“I’m not playing any game,” Not-Tobirama said innocently. Or rather, as innocently as he could make himself seem. Madara bristled, hardly restraining a full body shudder of rage. 

Not-Tobirama leaned forward again, pressing his lips to the corner of his mouth. Madara resisted the urge to turn his head and bite. Slowly, the other man made his way from his mouth to his jaw, lips gently brushing over the marks he left the night before. He paused over the thin bandage Izuna had placed on his shoulder. Without warning, he ripped it off, tossing it onto the desk and nipping at the mark. It sent a jolt of pain flashing through him, and he jerked with a quiet hiss. 

“Ah, there we go,” Not-Tobirama purred, thumbs digging in a little harder, rubbing a little faster. 

“Bastard,” Madara spat, trying so hard not to lose his shit and rip the Senju apart. 

“Mhm…” His mouth moved up again, back to his lips, and kissed him again, more lazy now, taking his time. Madara reluctantly parted his lips when he brushed his tongue against them, silently demanding entrance. Not-Tobirama made a pleased sound, swirling his tongue around, thoroughly exploring his mouth. 

“You taste like fire,” he said, pulling away for just a moment. “Ashy, smokey… I guess I should have expected that.” He leaned back in, nibbling at Madara’s lip before returning to his lazy kisses. As he did, his hands moved, from Madara’s hips to his ass. With a sudden jerk, he pulled Madara against his hips, and he stiffened when he felt his erection, again. 

Did this guy just walk around with an ever present hard on? He hissed quietly, starting to shift away, but Not-Tobirama tightened his grip, even going so far as to hold him in place and roll his hips up into him. All the while, he continued to kiss him, apparently not caring that Madara was not reciprocating whatsoever. 

Alright, then. ‘You think I taste like fire? Let me show you what it really tastes like.’ 

Uchiha were creatures of fire. It lived in them, raced through their veins like blood. The strongest of them didn’t need hand signs to call it up to the surface. 

With a brief flare of chakra, Madara summoned the flames, hands seizing the front of Not-Tobirama’s shirt, and breathed a stream of fire into his mouth. 

Not-Tobirama roared, shoving him away. A lesser man might have stumbled and fallen, but Madara just gracefully whirled away, dancing around the desk, fire spreading over him to encase him once more. A few quick hand signs from the Senju, and the fire spewing down Not-Tobirama’s throat was gone. 

The look Not-Tobirama gave him was bone-chilling, but he stood his ground. “I am not your toy,” he snarled, his flames brightening. “I will not stand for this! You do not belong in this world, and you do not own it or anyone in it! I don’t know how things are run where you come from, but it is not the same here, so you’d better smarten up!” 

Not-Tobirama was shaking with fury, and his black and red eyes alight with a fury Madara had not yet seen. Ohhh, crap. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad. 

“Uchiha,” Not-Tobirama hissed, his voice low and cold and raspy. “This world is tainted and I will purge it. Beginning with you!” 

He lunged across the table like a snake, and Madara just barely dodged, casting a wall of fire between them. He really, really didn’t want to do this in his office. But unless he came up with a clever way to either end the fight before it began or make an escape, this was happening. 

With a rush of heat, he tossed another fireball at the Senju. He blocked it with a wall of water, which immediately dropped, and reformed into horribly sharp ice shards. This would take more fire than he could just summon with his mind. 

His hands came together, and he breathed out a bigger fireball just in time to melt the shards before they reached him. Not-Tobirama burst through the flames, his own chakra affinity wrapped around him like a shield, and lunged for him again. Madara set one hand on his desk and swung over, putting it between them again. 

Then he grinned at Not-Tobirama, who snarled back. “So long, Senju,” he drawled. Then he sprang backwards, out the window, and was gone. The moment his feet touched the ground, Madara bolted towards the main square. Tobirama was a good sensor; he was probably already following his progress. But he wouldn’t chase him into a crowded space. 

He slowed down as he got closer, adjusting his collar and semi fixing his hair before stepping out into the market. It was hard not to grin with triumph. So that was the way to do it. Make Not-Tobirama so mad he forgot he had Izuna under his hold and just go for him. He was glad that worked. Now hopefully, Not-Tobirama wouldn’t take his anger out on Izuna for his boldness. The moment he breathed fire down his throat, his mind immediately panicked, thinking the Senju would get Izuna to do something horrible to himself. But he had been far too mad for that. Good. 

He strode among the market for a while, thinking. Oddly, he found himself missing the other Tobirama. The normal one. His version of the man. He was not so grizzled, so rough. And despite his biting snark and witty insults, way nicer than this Tobirama. Sage, he wanted normal Tobirama back. 

An idea crossed his mind. He flared his senses briefly, locating Hashirama and hurrying towards him. Luckily he wasn’t at the Hokage Tower, where Not-Tobirama still was. He could sense him there, his chakra dark and furious and fuming. 

“Hashirama,” he greeted, falling in pace with the Senju. He wasn’t at the Hokage Tower, but he was making his way there. Even better.

“Ah, Madara!” Hashirama greeted brightly. Madara swiftly dodged the arm he tried to throw over his shoulder. The Senju immediately pouted, but Madara was very good at getting him out of his depressive moods. 

“Can you do me a favour?” he asked. Just as he predicted, Hashirama brightened immediately. He loved doing things for Madara, no matter how mundane. 

“Of course!” he said, too happily. “What do you need?” 

Madara tucked his hands into his pockets. “I need you to distract the alternative Tobirama,” he said. Hashirama’s smile faded, and his face turned serious. 

“What for?” 

“I need to go to his lab and investigate something. I don’t trust him, Hashirama. I think he’s hiding something.” 

“Do you think he means the village harm?” Hashirama asked, his voice hard. 

Yes. “Maybe. That’s what I want to find out. This version of Tobirama is too dangerous and unstable to ask directly. I need you to be discreet, Hashirama. For my sake, yours, and the villages. Do not underestimate him.”

Hashirama nodded slowly, though he looked a little suspicious. “How should I distract him?” 

“Ask him about his reality. He’s the Hokage there, and is clearly quite proud about it. Ask him how he runs things there, what measures he’s taken to protect the village, the jutsu’s he’s worked on. Anything that’ll stroke his ego. He strikes me as much more vain than our Tobirama.”

Hashirama nodded. “Alright. I can do that. When and where?” 

“My office, right now.” 

“Got it.” 

Despite his denseness, Hashirama was a shinobi through and through. Madara lingered where he was, waiting until he sensed Hashirama in his office with Not-Tobirama. Not-Tobirama’s chakra flared, then settled. Madara waited a little longer, under the churning turmoil had settled further. 

Then he turned on his heel and bolted for Tobirama’s lab. He didn’t have lots of time. Not-Tobirama would be able to sense where he was whenever he wanted and hirashin there in seconds. The sudden realization made him uneasy. But it was too late to turn back now. 

He slipped into Tobirama’s house, made his way to the backyard, and entered the underground lab. He immediately marched towards the desk. Shuffling through the papers, he found the one containing the jutsu he and Tobirama had worked on. There were a few more there now, ones that Not-Tobirama had obviously made. Activating his Sharingan, he looked over them all, committing them to memory. He especially made sure to have the one containing the jutsu stored away perfectly. 

He snooped around a little longer, but when he found nothing else out of the ordinary, made his escape. It was only when he was back in the Uchiha district that he relaxed, letting a relieved sigh escape his mouth. 

As he made his way into his home, he double checked the new seals Mito had created for him. He hadn’t given her an explanation when he asked her for them. But her sharp eyes had darted to his mostly covered neck, and had promised to have them ready before dusk. She made due on her promises. Madara could feel their power. 

Kicking off his sandals, he trotted up the stairs to his room, finding some empty papers and quickly writing down what his Sharingan had memorized. It was great having the mental image, but it was easier to work with on paper. 

He stretched luxuriously, feeling a few vertebrae pop, then sat down before the desk and got to work. 

~*~*~  
*Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~*~

Today had not been a good day. His throat still burned from the fire Uchiha Madara had breathed into him. And then Senju Hashirama had entered the office as he was raging, all bright, happy smiles and excitement, and drilled him about his reality and the other version of Konoha. 

Tobirama had spoken with him, if only to keep the Senju’s suspicions at bay. They talked for hours, despite Tobirama’s not so subtle hints at trying to end the conversation. The sun had already set when the Senju finally let him go, and he stormed to his lab, angry and irritable and unsatisfied. 

He had enjoyed it immensely when the Uchiha finally yielded and sat with him. He was getting closer to having the Uchiha calm down around him. And then the fucking brat had the nerve to burn his throat. He was lucky he healed so fast. It came with stealing his brother's power. 

His irritation started to fade when he entered the lab. It always had that effect on him; calming and soothing. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the chair in front of his desk, running his hands down his face. He was still burning with excess energy, keyed up from the day. 

Perhaps all his agitation would settle with his work. The very thought had him relaxing. Turning the chair, he turned to the papers he had left earlier that day, only to freeze in place. 

They were in the wrong spot. 

Had he been anyone else, he might not have noticed. But he was meticulous when it came to his work. And they weren’t in the right spot. 

He flared his senses, picking up on a distant trail of familiar chakra. It had entered his lab some time ago, stayed for only a minute or two, and took off again. A little more poking and prodding into the trail left behind distinguished it. Warm, ashy, slightly smokey. 

All his rage and irritation came flying back, and he surged to his feet, quivering with fury. 

That fucking brat. 

He’d made him hurt. 

Without further adieu, he reached for the marker he left just outside of Madara’s house, and hiashined away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohho. This is gonna suck


	6. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone likes Alt.Tobirama.... you won't. 
> 
> Content Warning in this chapt: dubious/non-consent 
> 
> Madara suffers. Izuna is traumatized and angry and protective 
> 
> Honestly, almost didn't post, but here it is

~*~*~

Madara knew Izuna was staying with him tonight. He had been in his house for a few hours, and still hadn’t left. He was probably passed out on the couch by now. Maybe he should go put a blanket over him. He always got cold when he slept. 

In a minute. 

He scribbled a note in the margin of the page he was working on, and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was frustrating. If only he had normal Tobirama back with him. Then maybe he’d be able to crack this. 

But Tobirama wasn’t here, and he was working his ass off to bring him home and get rid of Not-Tobirama. Stupid Senju. He just HAD to go and test this jutsu without putting in enough time to make sure it was safe and ideal. He just got too excited sometimes, too eager. Like a child with a new toy. 

Despite himself, he smiled a little, remembering how Tobirama’s normally blank eyes lit up as he explained the jutsu to Madara. Ah, that Senju. 

He re-focussed, twirling his pen and tilting his head at the paper. Maybe if he switched out-

The door to his room burst open. Distracted as he was, he hadn’t noticed the other arrive. He sprang to his feet, Sharingan swirling to life. A hand seized his throat, whirling him around with a terrifying amount of ease, and slammed him against the wall, with only the tips of his toes touching the floor. 

Furious red and black eyes glared down at him. “You’ve been real fucking busy, haven’t you?” Not-Tobirama snarled, his fingers tightening around Madara’s throat. With a grunt, Madara’s flames burst to life. 

“STOP,” the Senju thundered, and his flames went out before he even processed the command. 

Oh, no. The obedience seal. Fuck. 

Not-Tobirama glanced down at his desk, taking in the papes he was working on, the familiar scrawl of the jutsu pattern. “Trying to figure it out yourself?” he sneered, pressing closer. “You really think you can? You think you can send me back to my world and pull your own Tobirama out?” 

He leaned down, hissing through bared teeth. “You will never get rid of me, Uchiha. I have you, and I am not about to let you go, not after so long. I will burn these papers, and I will lock you away if you dare oppose me again. And if your version of Tobirama ever manages to figure out how to come back, I will kill him.” 

He bit down harshly on the side of his neck, then stepped back, grabbing him and harshly pushing him to the bed. “Strip,” he growled. He didn’t use the seal, and Madara immediately bristled. 

“How dare you?” he seethed. “You are a foreigner here, and you dare to think you can give me orders?! That’s cute, really, you fucking brat. I will burn your chakra network out through your fucking eyes!” 

With that, he lunged forwards, seizing Not-Tobirama and unbalancing them. With a growl, Not-Tobirama braced himself, letting himself topple forwards and slamming Madara down on the bed. He snarled, biting the Senju’s hand and drawing blood. 

“You bitch,” Not-Tobirama snarled, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking. Madara growled, animalistic, automatically turning with the pain and elbowing Not-Tobirama in the face. At the same time, he lifted his knee, driving it into his gut and up to his diaphragm, knocking out his breath forcefully. 

Not-Tobirama wheezed, just a little, and his hands turned into iron shackles on Madara’s wrist. With a snarl and a crack, he broke the bones in his right wrist. It sent a dull flash of pain through him, but he ignored it. He had broken bones before. 

With a hiss, he headbutted the Senju in the face, delighting in the loud crack as his nose broke. Blood trickled down from his nostrils, flared with rage. He grabbed Madara’s chin, and he twisted free, biting again. That earned him a backhand across the face so hard his vision blurred for a few seconds. 

“Izuna, come in here!” Tobirama roared. Only a moment later, the door opened, and Izuna walked in. His eyes were teary, his expression pained. At his own throat he held a knife. It had already pierced his skin, and blood was trickling down his chest. 

Madara froze, gazing at his little brother in shock. Izuna stared back helplessly. “You will do as I say,” Not-Tobirama thundered, leering down at him. “Or little Izuna here will suffer and bleed. Do not make me use that obedience seal on you. Do you understand?”

Madara nodded. “Look at me!” Not-Tobirama hissed, seizing his chin again and forcing his face to turn. He met his furious eyes, and nodded again. 

“Yes,” he breathed. Not-Tobirama inhaled deeply, fingers curling hard around him, and then letting go. 

“Strip,” he ordered. Madara glanced over at Izuna, and then back at Not-Tobirama. “Oh, he stays. For now. How much more humiliating for you for your little brother to see this.” 

“What,” Madara squeaked in despair. “No, you can’t-”

“Izuna.” Madara’s eyes shot back to his brother, just as the knife started to carve deeper into his neck. 

“Wait!” Madara yelped, his hands shooting up and seizing Not-Tobirama’s face. He started to draw back, lip curling in fury, and Madara did the only thing he could think of. He surged up, and kissed him. 

Not-Tobirama froze, for a few seconds. Then, with a pleased growl, he returned it, pressing him hard into the mattress and ravaging his mouth like a starving man. “I will not ask again,” he said, pulling back to growl in his ear. “Strip.” 

Madara closed his eyes as Not-Tobirama leaned back to give him room. Resolutely not looking at Izuna, shame and humiliation burning his cheeks, he slowly removed his mantle, carefully setting it aside. His hands were trembling, he noticed. 

The moment his skin was bare, Not-Tobirama was on him again, devouring his mouth, nudging his legs apart and making himself comfortable between them. “Now, be a dear and help me out of these.” 

Hands shaking even further, Madara did so, slowly peeling away the Senju’s clothes, undoing his belt and shoving at his pants. Not-Tobirama helped, but only a little. He seemed much more interested in leaving marks all over him; his neck, collarbones, chest. 

When he finally had him out of his clothes, Not-Tobirama leaned back, black and red eyes dark. “Good,” he crooned, patting his head like he was a dog. He rocked his hips down, letting Madara feel his erection, and for the first time, Madara felt a flash of fear. 

Instinctively, his skin warmed, fire started to lick out of him. “Stop,” Not-Tobirama ordered. “Or Izuna’s knife goes a little deeper.” With a full body quiver, Madara willed the flames back, with some difficulty. He was in danger, they protested as they reluctantly sunk away. But Izuna was in more danger. 

Not-Tobirama’s hands drifted down his chest, over his stomach, and between his legs, sliding down and prodding at his entrance. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

But it was. Not-Tobirama’s finger slipped in dry, and it sent a jolt of pain racing up his spine. His breath hitched, and he automatically arched away. A solid hand pressing him down stopped his attempts quickly. Another finger slid in, brutally fingering him. Madara bit down on his own hand to muffle a shriek of pain, and Not-Tobirama chuckled. 

“None of that,” he drawled. With a flare of chakra, vines grew out of the floor, arching up onto the bed, wrapping around Madara’s wrists and pulling his wrists back above his head, binding them securely to the headboard. They were thick, sturdy. He could burn them away in an instant. But…. 

He wouldn’t. He knew that. And Not-Tobirama knew that. 

Something wet touched him, and he shuddered. Seems NOW Not-Tobirama was nice enough to provide something to ease the friction. Lazily, Not-Tobirama swirled his wet finger inside of him, then pulled out. 

It wasn’t enough. Madara braced himself. 

It hurt so much more than he was expecting, but he didn’t make a sound, other than a pained grunt. He heard Not-Tobirama groan as he slid into him, hard and fast. 

Madara bit his lip so hard it bled. 

“Finally,” Not-Tobirama purred, nosing along the side of his neck, nudging his hair aside to kiss and lick along his skin. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” 

Experimentally, he pulled out, and thrust back in. 

Madara choked on a whimper, eyes meeting Not-Tobirama’s. They were alight with lust. 

“Don’t hold in those pretty sounds for me,” he purred. Then he thrust in again, and again. Faster and harder, until Madara couldn’t stop his pained whimpers. 

At one point, he dazedly turned his head, meeting Izuna’s teary eyes. They were wide, horrified. With a sinking feeling, Madara closed his eyes, his body alight with pain, and let it happen. Not-Tobirama fucked him hard, agonizingly so, and he took it. 

Better him than Izuna. 

When it was done, and Not-Tobirama finally finished, giving Madara a long, almost sweet kiss that could have been from a lover before he left, releasing Izuna and melting away, his little brother burst into tears, reaching for him and hugging him fiercely. 

Madara didn’t. He just let his brother dote and fuss over him, dragging him to the shower, washing his hair, dressing him in a soft yukata and ushering him to the spare room he always slept in when he was over. 

Izuna pulled him onto the bed with him, and he went automatically. Mechanically. He let Izuna arrange him on the bed, wrapping his arms around him, petting his hair and face gently, whispering quiet assurances to him. 

Utterly drained, Madara just closed his eyes, and passed out. 

~*~*~

The next morning wasn’t any better. He woke up in pain, got up to even more pain, and slowly made his way down the stairs with even more, somehow. Izuna was in the kitchen. 

“Anija,” his brother said as soon as he saw him, straightening from where he had been leaning over the counter, chin in his hands. He stepped towards him, holding out his hands, gently reaching up to touch his cheeks. 

Madara let him with a sigh, his eyes trailing down to Izuna’s neck. He had cleaned and wrapped the wound last night sometime. He lifted one hand to touch the bandages. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice was. Izuna stared at him in disbelief. 

“Am I alright?” he cried. “ME?! What about you, anija?! How can you even think of me after what he….after what he...what he did to you?!”

Madara frowned a little. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, waving a hand. “I’m fine. Just a little sore.” 

“A LITTLE?” Izuna screeched, much like an angry owl. “Madara, he ra-”

“Izuna, please.” Something in his tone had Izuna shutting his mouth abruptly. “Just...please. Don’t.” 

“Okay,” Izuna said quietly. Madara felt a rush of affection for his little brother. Despite his anger, he was still so very empathetic and compassionate. “If you want to talk, I-”

“I know.” He managed a weak smile, lifting a hand to cup his brother's cheek. Izuna leaned into the touch, eyes closing. 

“I’m sorry you...had to see that,” he added softly. “If I had done what he wanted right away then…” 

“Don’t apologize,” Izuna insisted. “Don’t. None of this is your fault. I’m not upset or angry or ashamed with you, Mada. You were so brave, so strong.” His fingers traced over Madara’s eyebrow. “This is his fault. All of it. Don’t you dare try to shift even an ounce of blame to yourself.” 

His arms wrapped around him, and Madara leaned into him with a sigh. He was doing a good job not thinking about it, until he moved and he felt a stab of pain. “Should I get Hashirama?” Izuna asked after a moment. 

Madara debated. On one hand, he really did not want to be in so much pain. But on the other hand, what if Hashirama asked questions? “Take a knife,” he said suddenly. “Cut me on the low back. I don’t want Hashirama to question anything…” 

Izuna at first gave him a disbelieving look. “Madara, you have to tell him,” he insisted. “We have to lock him away.” 

“What good will it do, Izuna?” he said tiredly. “You’ve seen his power. We just have to hold out until our Tobirama gets back.” 

“What if he doesn’t?” Izuna whispered, finally voicing the fear that had been plaguing Madara. 

“He has to.” 

~*~*~

Izuna sent a message to Hashirama, requesting him to come and take a look at his injured brother, and the Senju was there within minutes. It had taken some convincing, but Izuna had finally relented, carving a deep gash into Madara’s low back that bled an astronomical amount. 

Hashirama nearly had a heart attack when he saw it, immediately drawing up his healing chakra, reknitting the torn flesh and blood vessels, muscles and skin, and soothing all the aches and pains with it. 

One thing that Madara appreciated about Hashirama: he was very thorough. The pain from last night faded with the pain of his new wound. Hashirama was oddly quiet throughout the whole process, his hand warm against Madara’s back. 

“What happened?” he asked finally. 

“Just a sparring accident,” Madara said with a yawn. Hashirama hummed. 

“Even all the other damage that’s clearly more than a few minutes old?” 

Madara froze, and he and Izuna exchanged a panicked look. Hashirama noticed. Because of course he did. 

“Madara, what is going on?” he asked, firmly. In his whole ‘you have to listen to me because I’m the Hokage’ voice. 

“Nothing,” Madara said, pushing himself up to his feet and redressing. 

“Madara,” Hashirama said again. Madara glanced at Izuna, who looked just as lost as he felt. 

“Drop it, Hashirama,” he said, bitingly harsh. Hashirama didn’t flinch. 

“Something happened last night, didn’t it?” he pressed. “What was it? Did someone--”

“Drop it, Hashirama!” Madara snapped, his chakra flaring and flames bursting out of his skin. Hashirama leaned back, a little surprised. Madara rarely burst into flame around him. Much less because of him. “Just, please.” 

Madara actually asking him to do something was even more of an indicator. “Okay,” Hashirama relented after a brief stare down. “For now.” 

“Thank you,” Madara breathed. He moved about experimentally, relieved when he felt no other lingering pain. “For everything,” he added. Hashirama smiled compassionately, clasping his friend's shoulder and squeezing. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he said kindly. Then he flounced out the door, and was gone. 

“How did he get past Mito’s added wards?” Madara wondered after a spell of silence. “They were supposed to keep him out.”

Izuna shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.” He stepped closer to his brother, gently grasping the wrist that Hashirama had also healed. “If you want, I can stay here from now on. With you. Just in case-”

“No,” Madara said immediately. “No, I want you to stay at your own house, Izuna.” 

“But, Madara-”

“No. If this...happens again, I don’t want you to be there to see it. And I don’t want you to be there for my own sake. Please.” 

“And then what? Just leave you to deal with it alone afterwards? You were a zombie last night, Mada! You could barely-” 

“I know, I know. Just, please. I don’t want to put either of us through that again. Next time, if he comes seeking...that….I’ll listen. I won’t let him hurt you again.” He touched Izuna’s newly healed neck, relieved at the lack of a scar. 

“Madara,” Izuna tried again, but he shook his head. 

“No, Izuna. But if it really settles you, if it happens again I’ll send a falcon to you. Okay?”

Izuna frowned, but finally nodded, albeit unhappily. “Okay.” 

~*~*~  
Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~*~

Staring up at the ceiling, Tobirama half closed his eyes, thinking, remembering….

How his Uchiha had been so tight and so pliant beneath him. 

How his breath hitched and how he whimpered with every movement. 

Oh, but he wanted more. The Uchiha could have given him so much more. 

Maybe having Izuna there had been too much. Madara was still a prideful man. He wouldn’t want to give himself all the way up in front of brother. But Madara had kissed him, of his own choice. 

They were heading in the right direction. 

He glanced back at his papers, but found himself utterly unable to focus. He kept thinking back to Madara...underneath him, dark hair splayed widely over the sheets, dark eyes half closed, fair skin flushed. The appealing part of his lips as he gasped and whimpered. 

Tobirama shuddered hard. Unable to stop himself, he undid the ties of his pants, sliding a hand down and gripping himself. It wasn’t nearly so good, but he could pretend. He remembered last night, re-lived it, as he stroked himself. He imagined what he’d do next time, and it was enough to tip him over the edge. 

He sighed at the mess he made, wiping his hand clean on a towel. But still, he was excited. 

He had had a taste, and he was hungry for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come ~ We'll se our Tobirama again soon


	7. Ground Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara puts his foot down. Tobirama figures out his life.

“Let me get this straight,” Tobirama said, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing in deeply. “You are all in on this?” 

The group of people gathered in his lab stared back. “Well, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t bring them here,” Izuna said, sounding so very much like the Izuna he knew that he glanced over at him to make sure he was still blind. 

He turned his gaze back to the person that surprised him the most. Hashirama grinned back, just a little. “You, too? You plan to overthrow your own brother?” 

“In my defense, he overthrew me first. And took all my power. And made my wife go into hiding. And killed my best friend.” 

Tobirama considered. “Okay, fair.” He glanced around at the rest. Izuna and two other Uchiha, a few Senju, a large number of Nara, some Yamanaka, Akimichi, Hyuuga, Inuzuka, and Sarutobi. Pretty much at least 3 from every clan in Konoha. A few looked at him suspiciously. Others looked fascinated. 

“Okay well, staging a coup d'etat is all well and good. But the man you want to overthrow isn’t here, remember? So, what now?”

“Simple.” Shiyana said. The Nara woman hiked her thick hair into its customary tight bun. “Mito is the only Uzumaki left, but I’m sure that, if we all work together, we can figure out how to get you home. And if you’re home, our Tobirama has to come back here. And if that happens, and if we can figure out the specifics of the seal and the jutsu, with the help of your Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, I think we can figure something out.” 

“True,” Tobirama agreed, absentmindedly running his index finger down the red tattoo on his chin. He glanced back at Izuna and the other Uchiha. He had been planning on keeping this a secret, at least for a little while. But they were so desperately eager to throw off their shackles. They wanted to help, but how could they? Powerless, sightless, forced to yield from the seals on their necks. 

He stood up. “We can do that. But first, Mito, Shiyana, and anyone else with medical knowledge, I have something to show you.” He made his way to the shelf, thumbing in the code in the keypad. “Come,” he invited, as the shelf began to groan and turn. 

Hesitantly, the others joined him on the slowly revolving disc of the floor. Once on the other side of the wall, he hunted along the shelves until he found what he was looking for. Snagging the selected jar, he strode back, taking Izuna’s hand and pressing it into his hands. 

“Maybe we can’t give you back your power. But we might be able to give you and your clan your sight.” 

~*~*~*

He was back in his office only a few hours later, distractedly signing some reports, when Not-Tobirama came back again. This time, he had enough sense to put down his pen and look up as soon as he entered, interlacing his fingers. 

He felt a coil of unease as Not-Tobirama glided closer, having shut and locked the door behind him. He dug his nails into the back of his hands, willing himself not to shudder as he came towards him, trying not to think about last night. 

“You’re learning,” Not-Tobirama praised, coming around the desk and sitting on the corner, smirking down at him. Madara tilted his head back to meet his eyes. 

“What do you want now?” he asked, letting his irritability known. “I have work to do, Senju, and I’m far enough behind on it because of you as it is.” 

“Did you forget?” Not-Tobirama asked, leaning towards him. “You should know to make me your first priority.” 

“You’ll have to work a little harder than that, then,” Madara shot back before he could help it. Not-Tobirama stared down at him, his expression blank, and Madara stared back. Then, the alternate Senju stood up, grabbed him by the front of his mantle, yanking him to his feet and spinning him around. He shoved him forward, pressing his chest against his desk, and leaning over him, pinning him in place. 

Madara stayed perfectly still, even as he felt his hardness against his ass. “If dedication on my part of what you want, then I will show it to you,” Not-Tobirama rumbled, grinding up against him. 

Madara took in a deep breath, bracing himself, then twisted himself around, so that he was on his back as opposed to his front. He hooked his legs around Not-Tobirama’s neck, crossing his ankles and squeezing. The other's hands came up to grab his calves, and he squeezed a little harder in warning. 

“Now, you listen to me,” he growled, sitting up and grabbing him by the front of his collar, yanking him down closer to him. Not-Tobirama didn’t look taken off guard, but he did look intrigued. Good. 

“If you want to fuck me, you’re going to have to wait a bit. I’m tired and sore, and quite frankly I don’t feel like being split in half again any time soon. Wait a few days, and maybe I’ll let you have me again.” 

“Maybe you’ll let me?” Not-Tobirama echoed, raising his eyebrows. “Are you not aware that you don’t exactly have a choice? I take what I want when I want it. You will do nothing to stop me.” 

“Well, if you want me to react and feel good around you, you’ll give me a few days to recover.” 

They had a stare down for a bit. Then Not-Tobirama huffed, with a tiny half smirk. “Alright. I see your point.” He pulled back, and Madara uncrossed his ankles, letting him go. As his feet touched the floor again, Not-Tobirama sat down in his chair, spreading his legs and eyeing him. “But I didn’t come all this way just to be unsatisfied.” He waved at the space between his legs. “If I can’t fuck you, I can still have you some other way. I’m sure you know what I mean…” 

Madara stared at him, slowly pushing himself off the desk. Not-Tobirama’s smirk widened when he sank slowly to his knees in front of him. “Good,” he crooned, petting his hair. Madara resisted the urge to sneer at him, instead forcing himself to reach up and undo the ties of his pants, working them down. 

His erection sprung out, and Madara, feeling sick to his stomach and very much wanting to stand up and bolt out of there, reached out to wrap his hand around it, slender fingers stroking up and down. 

Not-Tobirama made a satisfied sound, head leaning back and eyes closing. Madara moved his hand a little faster, alternating between stroking and squeezing, fast and slow, hard and light. 

But alas, Not-Tobirama wasn’t satisfied for long. “You can do better than that,” he rumbled after a few minutes. He leaned forward, grabbing Madara’s chin in one hand and tilting his face up. His thumb ran over his bottom lip. “Open up,” he ordered. 

Madara hesitated just a moment too long. Not-Tobirama forced his finger into his mouth, adding another and forcibly parting his jaws. His other hand fisted into his hair, hauling him forwards and thrusting his dick into his mouth. 

Madara immediately choked, but now both hands were in his hair, pressing his face forward and keeping him there. “Now, put those pretty lips to use, Uchiha,” Not-Tobirama drawled. Madara lifted his hands, digging his nails into the Senju’s thighs, and did as he was told. He started off slow, hesitant, moving his lips and tongue cautiously. The fingers dug into his hair harder. 

Emboldened, he pursed his lips and sucked hard, drawing his tongue along the underside of his shaft and swirling it around the tip, pushing back against the hands to give a few tiny licks before swallowing him back down. Not-Tobirama groaned, his hips thrusting up shallowly. He tried not to cough, eyes watering with the effort. 

The sooner he got him off, the sooner he’d be left in peace. With that thought in mind, he hummed loud and long, vibrating his throat and causing the Senju to buck up into his mouth with a curse. Further inspired, Madara heated himself up, warming his throat and mouth even further with the fire within; not hot enough to burn, but definitely warm enough to feel. 

Not-Tobirama grunted, and he slid further forward in the chair, taking Madara’s hair firmly and thrusting into his mouth. It was hard not to gag. Madara forced himself to sit still and pliant, focussing on his attention on the erection in his mouth, licking and sucking. 

One of his hands came to join the efforts of his mouth, stroking the top and thumbing along what he couldn’t take with his mouth. Not-Tobirama thrust up into him hard again, hitting the back of his throat almost painfully. 

His fingers pulled hard at his hair, and with a loud, animalistic grunt, he came, spilling down Madara’s throat. 

It took monumental effort not to choke; to the best of his ability, Madara swallowed it, gagging at the taste. 

With a content sigh, Not-Tobirama pulled away, tucking himself back, and Madara wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing. Not-Tobirama grabbed his wrist, bringing it to his mouth and lazily licking the spit and cum off. 

Disgusted, Madara just watched him, until his hand was clean. “You’re getting better already,” he drawled, letting go of his hand. “I wonder how long it’ll take until you’re able to take all of me in…” 

“Are we done?” Madara broke in quietly. Not-Tobirama tilted his head, then reached down, grabbing the collar of his mantle and dragging him up. Once again, he arranged Madara on his lap, hands firmly over his hips. 

“Breathe fire down my throat again and I’ll make Izuna feel a world of hurt,” he threatened. Madara nodded wordlessly, and he took his chin firmly in hand, pressing their lips together. He stayed quiet and pliant, letting Not-Tobirama kiss him. 

Luckily, he pulled back soon. Unluckily, his eyes were annoyed. “You kissed me last night,” he rumbled. “Why don’t you now?” 

“I don’t want to,” he replied stiffly. Not-Tobirama smirked. 

“Will you if I say that if you don’t I’ll have Izuna go and-”

With a flare of irritation, Madara grabbed his collar tightly, leaning in and kissing him just to shut him up. Pleased, Not-Tobirama made a rumbling sound in the back of his throat, his large hands sweeping up his back. One cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer, and the other curled around his waist again. 

Reluctantly, Madara kissed him as long as he seemed interested, and they sat there for a while, lazily making out. Not-Tobirama was warm under him, broad and solid. But not in the right way. His chakra was too icy, too restless. Nothing like the cool pool that he was used to, that always seemed so soothing when Tobirama was near. 

Finally, with a last lick along his lip, Not-Tobirama pulled back. He stared at Madara for a moment, eyes running over his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Then he smiled, adjusting his hold and standing up. He sat Madara down on the desk, running his hands up his sides, and kissing him once more, long and almost sweet. “That was nice. See you soon, Madara.” 

With that, he stepped back, and hirashined away. 

Madara stayed where he was for a moment, his heart racing. He could feel his fire beneath his skin, hissing and angry. He held it back, for now, but could still smell the smoke emanating off him. 

He curled his nails into his palms, feeling their edges even through his gloves, and took a deep breath, willing himself not to erupt into furious flames. He hopped off the desk, absentmindedly rearranging his papers, which had been scattered during Not-Tobirama’s visit. 

With a sudden surge of resolution, he stormed out of his office and up the hall to Hashirama’s. The Senju looked up when he entered, with a blinding grin. “Ah, Madara!” he greeted. Madara gave him his usual stare, closing the door behind him and flaring his senses, making sure there was no one nearby to eavesdrop. Then he activated his Sharingan, taking a quick scan of the room to ensure there were no listening devices anywhere. 

“Madara?” Hashirama asked quietly, picking up on his strange behaviour. 

“We have to talk,” Madara said, sitting in the chair opposite of Hashirama. “About our different Tobirama.” 

Hashirama’s smile faded, turning serious. “Right, I meant to ask you about it. Did you find anything in his lab?” 

Madara stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he remembered his little trip to the lab and his snooping around. He winced. 

“Well, not really. But he’s...different, Hashirama. He’s not all...there.” He touched his temple meaningfully, and Hashirama nodded. 

“I know. Truth be told, I thought I should tell you what I found out while I distracted him for you.” That peeked his interest. 

“What did you learn?” he asked, straightening. 

Hashirama pursed his lips. “Well, you remember his claims about the Uchiha clan?” He waited until Madara nodded. “I don’t think he just defeated them. I think he completely enslaved them. He mentioned the Uzumaki clan trying to steal them, and he….he destroyed them, Madara. All of them. He wiped out the Uzumaki clan and took all their seals and power.” 

“How do you know that?” Madara asked, frowning. Hashirama shook his head. 

“He has no regrets about it. He’s proud of it. He even went on to talk about the Nara clan. He doesn’t trust them. It almost sounds like he wants to exterminate them, too.” 

Madara hummed, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Hashirama, we need to inform the rest of the village,” he said quietly. “We’ve been lucky so far that no one else knows he’s here. He seems to have the same habits as our Tobirama. But he’s bound to be noticed soon. And yes, while the villagers are used to Tobirama disappearing for a few days, they’ll start to wonder soon. This Tobirama is too powerful to lock away, and if I’m right, we need to keep him alive to get our Tobirama back.” 

“What should we tell them, Madara?” Hashirama asked, sounding tired. “Just say ‘Oh hey, by the way, Tobirama got himself flung into another world and got replaced by another Tobirama whose weirdly powerful and mean and rules Konoha?’” 

“Basically,” Madara agreed. Hashirama frowned. “We should call all the clan heads together,” he continued. “Inform them of the situation, and have them tell their clan. Tell them all to be wary and avoid this Tobirama as much as possible.” 

Hashirama frowned. “And how do we explain the swap?” 

“I’ll do that. I was the one helping Tobirama, after all. But Hashirama….be discrete. Send the summons in secret.” 

~*~*~

An urgent meeting request from the Hokage himself was not something to be ignored. That very night, all the clan heads gathered together at the Hokage Tower. Madara sat beside Hashirama, feeling oddly anxious. He flared his senses every once in a while, but Not-Tobirama hadn’t moved from his spot in the lab. Hopefully he’d stay there. 

He watched the clan heads filter in and take their seats. Hashirama gave him a tiny smile, as if sensing his unease. It did little to settle him. 

“Lord First,” a woman's voice said respectfully. The head of the Yamanaka clan, Kenara. “Why do you summon all the clan heads here? You said it was an emergency. What is going on?” 

Hashirama and Madara exchanged a look, and he gave the Senju an encouraging nod. Hashirama breathed in deeply. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, my brother Tobirama has a tendency to experiment with a variety of different jutsus.” A few of the clan heads nodded; it was common knowledge, after all. “In any way, a jutsu he and Madara here were working on went wrong, and there were….unexpected results. Madara?” 

All eyes turned to him instead of Hashirama, and for some reason, it unsettled him. But he took over with little pause. “The jutsu we were working on was a space-time jutsu,” he explained. “Similar to his hirashin. It’s purpose was to travel back in time a few seconds, to alter events very slightly. It was meant to be an emergency precaution, to prevent assassinations or other similar ill events. However, it was not fully understood or developed when we first tested it. There are many theories that our world is not alone. There are many out there who think we live in a dimension, and that there are...mirror, dimensions. There’s simply no way to bridge them. Accidentally, Tobirama and I managed to find a way to do so.” 

He paused, glancing around the room. Everyone was staring at him, with varying expressions of fascination, shock, and disbelief. “Unfortunately, Tobirama got himself pulled into another dimension. However, balance must always be maintained. Something cannot just disappear. As such, when Tobirama was pulled into another dimension, the Tobirama of that dimension got pulled into our world.” 

“He is nothing like the Tobirama you know,” Hashirama picked up. “None of you have met him yet, but it’s only a matter of time. It’s only been two or three days since he arrived, but I want to warn you all. In his dimension, Tobirama is the Hokage of Konoha, and he seems to rule with absolute authority. He had subjugated and enslaved the Uchiha clan, exterminated the Uzumaki, and has plans to dispose of the Nara clan.” 

“If he is apparently so dangerous, why do you not kill him?” the Hyuuga head demanded, pale eyes narrowed. 

“Because balance must be maintained,” Madara replied. “In order to get our Tobirama back, we have to send this one back to where he came from. If we kill him, we won’t get our version of Tobirama returned to us.” 

“Alright, then why do you not lock him away if you think he’s so dangerous?” the Sarutobi leader questioned. Madara and Hashirama glanced at each other again. 

“Because he’s stronger than both of us,” Madara said quietly. “In his world, he became clan head and leader of Konoha by finding a way to steal Hashirama’s power. Tobirama is already formidable. But with Hashirama’s Mokuton, and his natural affinity to water, Tobirama is much more dangerous. In addition, he…” He hesitated before continuing. “I don’t know how to put this. He has a way to make some members of the village do whatever he wishes, no questions asked. They cannot speak about it, or ask for aid, least they subject themselves to extreme pain.” 

“He can control them?” an Uzumaki asked, frowning. Madara nodded, not trusting himself to speak least the seal on his neck kicks in. 

“With his power and his….other...advantage, he could escape any prison. He can do whatever he wishes, and if we wish to stay alive, we cannot do anything to stop him.” 

“So why hasn’t he done anything yet?” the single Nara present asked. He looked a little unsettled, perhaps because of the threat to his clan. Even if it was in another dimension. 

“Fortunately for us, this version of Tobirama is similar to ours, in some ways. They share the obsession of research. Something has caught his interest, and he is wholly and completely invested in it. As long as...it...occupies him, we are safe.” 

“And what is it that has occupied him so?” the Hyuuga asked. Madara stared at him for a moment, then glanced at Hashirama. The look in his friends eyes was knowing. 

“That’s a..private, matter,” Hashirama said slowly. “But rest assured, for now, Tobirama presents little threat to the village. However, we want all of you to be on guard. Inform your clans about him. If you see him, do not initiate conversation.” 

“And keep your distance,” Madara added. “Do not let him touch you.” 

“Why not?” the Akimichi finally asked. Madara frowned back. 

“Because if he touches you, he can put his sea-” 

A wave of pain crashed over him, once again radiating from the back of his neck. It felt like being kicked by a horse. He hunched over with a harsh gasp, digging his hands into his thighs and biting his lip to prevent a howl of pain from escaping. His vision blurred, and the world spun wildly. The pain spread, down his chest and into his belly, and he curled in on himself in a vain attempt to stop it. 

A hand on his shoulder, and then a rush of warm comfort, taking the edge off the pain. It was still there, but significantly subdued. His blackened vision cleared, and his head stopped swimming. With a groan, he slowly uncurled, blinking rapidly a few times. There was a cool hand on the back of his neck, and another holding his hair back. 

A third hand brushed over his forehead, and he finally looked up, staring up into the concerned face of the Yamanaka clan head, Kenara. A little dazed, he looked over his shoulder. The Uzumaki leader was standing behind him, hand on the nape of his neck, scowling. 

“-it is?” he distantly heard Hashirama say. The first part of his question he completely missed. 

“An obedience seal,” the Uzumaki replied, removing his hand. His hair fell back over his neck, covering the fading seal again. “That’s why you say not to get close enough to touch,” he said to Madara. He nodded slowly. 

“A seal that forces obedience, and causes excruciating pain when talked about to prevent knowledge of it from spreading,” Kenara said. Madara froze at her words. Had she gone into his head without him realizing? Had she seen…

He jerked away from her, and her hands fell back to her sides. Her expression was carefully blank. “Warn you clans,” Hashirama said, putting a hand on Madara’s shoulder. “And if you see him, avoid him. I don’t think we can stop him from harming the village if he wished, so for now, we will try to keep everyone calm and appeased, including him.” 

He received a few nods and quiet affirmations in response. The clan heads filtered quietly out the room, until only Hashirama and Madara were left. 

“I would ask you why you didn’t tell me about the seal, but...Now I know.” 

Madara winced, and nodded slowly. Hashirama’s eyes were piercing. 

“What holds his interest, Madara? What is keeping him from trying to do the same here as he did to his own world?” 

Madara met his eyes. “I think you know,” he said quietly. Hashirama’s mouth pressed into a flat line. 

“What can I do?” 

“Right now?” Madara sighed, shaking his head. “Put me back together afterwards.” 

Hashirama paled. “Madara, no. You and I can put him away. We can keep him contained.” 

Madara shook his head. “No, we can’t. Not without losing what we love, Hashirama. He has...it...on Izuna. I almost lost him already. I won’t risk him again.”

Hashirama’s expression changed to that one that he hated: compassionate, pitying. “I will do something when you ask me to,” he promised. 

Madara nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama's gonna become a rebellion leader. Against...himself?


	8. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alt.Tobirama loses his patience

~*~*~

As seemed to be customary now, Not-Tobirama came striding into his office, closing and locking the door. For the past 3 days since Madara spurned him, Not-Tobirama would come to his office when he was alone, and either spend some time just making out or he’d nudge Madara to his knees to suck him off again. 

Much as he was expecting, Not-Tobirama strode around his desk, hoisted him up, and sat down where he just was. Then, he pulled Madara onto his lap, nuding at his knees until he was straddling him. His hands gripped his hips, tighter than usual. 

“I’ve given you enough time,” he rumbled, licking up his neck and nipping the mark he left there the day before. “I’ve run out of patience, Madara.” His mouth grazed over his cheek, finding his mouth and immediately sliding his tongue between his lips. “I will have you today,” he continued, catching his bottom lip and nipping harshly. 

Madara grunted quietly, pressing back hesitantly, mind racing. He knew this would come soon. Yesterday, Not-Tobirama had been more aggressive than usual, all sharp bites and too tight grips. But how could he convince him he wasn’t ready yet? That he needed more time? 

Despite himself, he gasped sharply when Not-Tobirama slipped his hand under his clothes and up his chest, harshly tugging at his nipple. His mouth attached itself hard to his neck. Automatically, he tilted his head back to give him more access. Not-Tobirama made a pleased sound, and it sent a stab of irritation through him. How had he, in the span of only 4-5 days, gotten accustomed to his wants and started to accommodate them? 

He growled quietly when Not-Tobirama’s hand roughly groped his ass. With a bit of effort, he pulled back, hands on Not-Tobirama’s chest. “Wait,” he muttered, leaning away when Not-Tobirama growled, biting at his neck. 

“No,” Not-Tobirama hissed, his hold tightening. 

“Wait,” Madara snapped again. “No!” 

“You can’t refuse me,” he growled. 

“Maybe not. I won’t let you fuck me here.” Not-Tobirama pulled back, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not here?” 

Madara inhaled shakily. “If you want to fuck me, we can’t do it here.” 

“And why is that?” Not-Tobirama drawled, pinching his nipple again. Unable to stop himself, Madara hissed. 

“This is my office! Anyone could walk in!” 

“Do you forget that I’m the best sensor in the Land of Fire?” 

“I don’t care!” He shoved at Tobirama’s chest again. “It’s the middle of the day!” Not-Tobirama made a disgruntled sound, standing suddenly and slamming Madara down on his back on the desk. 

“You are testing me,” he growled. “And I don’t appreciate it.” 

Madara breathed in deeply, and swallowed his pride. “I will let you fuck me, tonight.” 

Not-Tobirama raised an eyebrow. “Willingly?” 

Madara nodded. With a grin, Not-Tobirama kissed him hard and messy, enthusiastically licking into his mouth. “Alright, then. You made your case. I’ll see you tonight.” 

With another hard, sloppy kiss with too much tongue and teeth, Not-Tobirama smirked down at him, stepped back, and hirashined away. 

Shakily, Madara straightened, soothing out his clothes. Well, that was a close call. At least he managed to delay it. Good for him. He had just delayed the inevitable. Now he had the rest of the day to panic about it. 

For a moment, Madara considered taking off and not being around tonight. But what good would that do? It’d only delay the inevitable even more. He sighed softly, running his hands through his inky hair. 

Well. What could he do. 

~*~*~

The day passed so slow it hurt. His nerves were running wild, and he was jumpy and irritable. Hashirama knew something was wrong. He shot him concerned looks all throughout their one meeting in the afternoon, in which he was unable to focus on. 

When he got home, he didn’t bother eating, feeling that he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. Instead, he quietly paced the kitchen, forcing himself to drink some tea. His senses pinged, and he stiffened. 

Well, he was here. He forced himself to stand still, gazing out the kitchen window, holding his mug to his lips and taking a small sip. He followed Not-Tobirama’s chakra signature as he walked into his house, up the hall, and into the kitchen. He felt more than heard the Senju come up behind him. 

Large hands gripped his hips, warm and firm. A pair of lips brushed against his neck, and he shuddered. He felt the lips curl up in a smile. “Good evening, Madara,” Not-Tobirama drawled, nosing his hair aside to kiss and nip at his nape. 

Madara didn’t reply, just bowed his head a little to give him more access. He heard him chuckle softly, and then his back was pressed against his chest. One of his hands left his hip, wiggling under his clothes, mapping over his chest. 

“Come,” he rumbled, sinking his teeth into his neck and pulling back. His mug was pried from his hands and set on the counter. Not-Tobirama’s hand took his mouth’s place at his nape, urging him to turn. He did so, slowly, finally looking the Senju in the face. His black and red eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust. His hand curled a little tighter around his neck. 

With a hard tug, Not-Tobirama started moving, half dragging him up the stairs to his room. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach, and the feeling of sickness came right back. The bedroom door closing behind him sounded more like a death note. 

His back came up against the door, hard, and Not-Tobirama was on him. His hands roved over him, down his sides, his hips, his legs. WIth hard, insistent tugs, he urged Madara to lift his legs, looping them around his waist. His hands followed his arms, gripping his wrists and pressing them against the wall next to his head. His mouth pressed against Madara’s, biting and licking into him. 

“I shouldn't have listened to you,” Not-Tobirama muttered, moving his mouth down to bite his neck. “You were all I could think about today. All I could imagine. I should have at least had you on your knees earlier, just to take the edge off.” 

Madara shivered when he licked and nipped at his ear. “I’ll enjoy this. I’ve wanted to fuck you like this for years…. In my world, I wanted you. I hope I don’t kill you, on accident. It’d be a shame.” 

His words had Madara’s eyes widening, and he leaned back. Not-Tobirama didn’t let him. He reattached their mouths, arms wrapping firmly around him and pulling him from the door. He turned, taking the few steps to the bed and collapsing onto it, pressing Madara down into the mattress. 

His hands started to pull at Madara’s clothes. Hesitantly, Madara did the same, undoing the buttons and ties of the man over him. Not-Tobirama made a pleased sound, nipping at Madara’s lip. With a loud rip, he grew frustrated with his own efforts, and tore the back of Madara’s mantle. As soon he tossed the ripped fabric away, his mouth moved; from his lips, to his neck, to his chest and belly. He nipped and licked, teeth grazing his skin. 

Madara lowered his hands, threading his fingers through his white hair. He gave an experimental tug, and Not-Tobirama gave a pleased rumble. All too soon, his hands stopped exploring him, sliding under him purposefully. 

With a grunt, Madara sat up, and shoved him away. Not-Tobirama’s eyes flashed with anger, and he grabbed Madara’s wrists. He managed to wrench one free, pressing his palm against his face and shoving again. 

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this right!” he spat. Not-Tobirama scowled at him. Before he could reply, Madara reached under his pillow, and shoved a small bottle of oil at him. Not-Tobirama glanced down at it, then gave him a bemused look. “It fucking hurt last time. You’re doing this, or we’re not going any further.” 

“You really think you could stop me?” Not-Tobirama asked, amused. No, he couldn’t. But he could bluff. 

“Take your pick,” Madara snapped. “Willing or not willing. How would you rather have me?”

Not-Tobirama stared down at him. Then he snorted, amused. “You have a lot more fire than the Madara I once knew,” he said, popping open the bottle and coating his fingers. The sight made him shiver. 

“I’m not keen on pain if I can avoid it,” he grumbled. Not-Tobirama’s hand slid under him again, and he hissed at the finger circling him. Without thinking, he grabbed his white hair again, pulling him up to kiss him again. Not-Tobirama made an amused sound, sliding two fingers in right away. 

Madara jerked. “Not so fast you fucker!” 

“You can’t ask me to go slower,” Not-Tobirama hissed back, sweeping down to bite his jaw. He twisted and scissored his fingers, rolling his wrist, thrusting in and out. 

Much to his horror, Madara moaned quietly, unable to stop it at the feeling. He felt the Senju smirk against his neck, and his fingers moved a little faster, pushing in deeper. Madara lifted his hand, biting the meat of his thumb. 

“No,” Not-Tobirama grumbled, taking his wrists and pressing his hands to the bed. “You’ve been denying me too long. Now that I have you, I want all of you. All. I want to hear you moan for me.” 

Madara whimpered quietly when he twisted his fingers hard, automatically jerking up. Not-Tobirama shuddered above him, and he leaned down to bite his shoulder. “You’re making it hard for me not to take you now,” he hissed. “I don’t think I’ll wait anymore.” 

He pulled his fingers out, leaning back. Then, he made a few small motions with his hands. Vines curled around his wrists, pulling his hands over his head, binding him to the headboard. Not-Tobirama glanced down at the bottle of oil he discarded on the bed, considering. Then he grabbed the bottle, pouring a little bit onto his hand, and slathering his erection. 

“I hope you’re grateful,” he grumbled, tossing the bottle away again. “I’m not usually this kind.” Without further adieu, he pushed Madara’s thighs apart, urging him to bend his knees, and shoved in, hard and fast. 

Madara gasped, eyes squeezing shut. It hurt. He hadn’t been stretched enough to accommodate him. Not-Tobirama gnawed on his shoulder, hands gripping his hips so tightly he was sure he’d bruise. Then, the Senju leaned back, lips curling to smirk at him. He pulled back, then thrust in again. 

“Let me hear you,” he growled, when Madara bit his lip harshly. He stared up at him, releasing a shaky breath. Then, just because he could: 

“Make it worth my while, then.” Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened. For a split second, Madara wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said that. 

“I will make you scream,” the Senju promised. With that, he started moving, thrusting into him hard and fast, his hands brutally tight around his hips, his mouth and teeth leaving trails over his neck, chest, and belly. 

Madara curled his fingers within his binds, feeling both sick and annoyed. Sick at the Senju fucking him, and annoyed that his body was responding. 

He had to make this good for him. He couldn’t risk Izuna. As much as he wanted to rip free and set the Senju on fire….he wouldn’t. With a grunt, he bucked up into him, and the resulting deepness of Not-Tobirama’s thrust made him gasp. 

Not-Tobirama groaned, holding his hips down. “Uchiha,” he rumbled, thrusting hard and deep. He leaned heavily on him, holding him down firmly. One of his hands moved up, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking. Madara arched up with a moan, his body shuddering violently. Teeth grazed his neck, sinking in deep and drawing blood. 

He whined when Not-Tobirama tugged with his teeth, rocking in deeply and grinding hard. He could feel his body heating up, could smell the smoke starting to curl from his skin. Not-Tobirama reconnected their mouths, harshly licking into his mouth, tugging at his lip with his teeth. 

He moaned again, and Not-Tobirama made another pleased sound. He seemed to like it when he reacted verbally. He slowed down suddenly, thrusting slow, lazy, shallowly. 

Madara stared up at him, and the Senju grinned back. “Ask me for more,” he purred. Madara froze. 

“What?” 

“Ask me for more,” he said again. “Ask me to fuck you harder, faster, deeper.” 

Madara curled his lip at him, sneering. “No,” he growled. He may be letting the Senju fuck him, but he wasn’t about to toss his pride away and beg for it. 

“Ask me,” Not-Tobirama said again, hissing. His eyes narrowed with irritation. 

“I am not some cheap whore!” he snarled. How badly he wanted to rip free and burn the man's face off. 

“No, you’re not,” the Senju agreed. “A whore sells themself out to many people. But you….you belong only to me.” 

He thrust hard, and Madara choked off his snarling reply. “Ask me to fuck you harder,” he demanded. “Or shall I see how Izuna looks with scars to match mine? Maybe I’ll have him carve the symbol of my clan into his chest. Or I can-”

“No,” Madara protested. He closed his eyes, head falling back against the mattress. “Fuck me, Senju. Hard. NOW.” 

“So demanding,” Not-Tobirama huffed. He leaned down, biting a nipple and worrying it between his teeth. “We’ll get you there. Eventually. It’ll be so very fun to watch you break. Soon you’ll be seeking me out, begging me to fuck you…” 

He resumed his previous actions, harder, fiercer, fucking into him like a man possessed. Madara squirmed, biting his lip. Just a little longer, and then the Senju would leave him be. 

Very purposefully, he rocked up into him, and clenched around him. The Senju made a sound like an angry animal. His teeth returned to his neck, painfully hard. The bed rocked beneath them, and Madara groaned, lifting his legs to loop them around his waist. He dug his heels into the small of his back. 

He cracked open his eyes to glare at the Senju. “Hurry up, you useless demon,” he spat. Just as he hoped, Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened with irritation, and he moved harder. He didn’t reply for once, and Madara took that as a victory. 

He clenched down hard again, and Not-Tobirama came, spilling inside of him with a snarl and a bruising grip on his hips. His hand came down, curling around Madara’s length, and stroking. With a hiss, he jerked away. 

“Don’t,” he growled. Still inside him, the Senju grunted, and ignored him, stroking him harshly. Despite his fury and his aversion, his body responded. His muscles locked in a familiar way, and he came, spilling messily into the Senju’s hand. 

Disgusted with himself, Madara curled in on himself a little. Not-Tobirama chuckled, lifting his hand and licking it clean, gazing down at Madara as he did. “Next time, I think I’ll gag you,” he decided. The words gave him a sinking feeling, and he glared at him. 

“I hope you can wait a couple of days,” he snapped. He could already feel how sore he was going to be. Not-Tobirama tilted his head. 

“A couple of days? Do you really need so long to recover?” 

“Yes. Get out and leave me be.” The Senju looked down at him, and his smirk widened. 

“You seem to be under the impression that that’s all we’re doing tonight,” he said, almost pleasantly. Madara stared at him. 

“What?” 

“Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You didn’t really think I’d be satisfied with one round tonight, did you? I am just barely getting started!” 

Madara stared at him with a sense of mounting dread. “No,” he hissed. “No more. Not today.” Not-Tobirama’s hands curled around his hips again. 

“You think you can deny me? After making me wait all day? There’s so much I want to do to you yet, Madaraaaa.” He shifted his hips a little, and with horror, Madara realized he could feel him hardening inside of him again. 

Then, unexpectedly, he pulled out. For a brief second, Madara felt relieved. And then the Senju turned him over onto his stomach, grabbing his hips and lifting his ass up. He forced his legs apart again and, without warning, he slid back in, the new angle letting him slide in deeper. 

Madara jerked, automatically kicking at him. Vines curled around his ankles, holding his legs still. He hissed, twisting as hard as he could within his bonds, but the vines held fast, and the hands on his hips tightened. 

“You bastard!” Madara snarled, planting his tied hands and leaving himself up. “You absolute fuc-”

A hand between his shoulder blades shoved him back down, and a thick vine covered his mouth. “That’s enough, out of you,” Not-Tobirama said, falsely pleasant. He thrust in lazily, brushing against his overstimulated nerves, and Madara quivered. “How many times do I have to tell you? I take what I want, when I want it.” 

He leaned down, his chest pressing against his back. One hand braced himself on the bed next to Madara’s head, and his other moved from his hip to curl around his waist, pulling his hips back against him. He rocked forward, lazily. 

“I want you, now, and I will have you.” He nudged Madara’s hair aside, teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. Then he started moving, fucking him hard, pressing his chest into the bed, pulling his hips back to meet his thrusts. 

Madara shook beneath him, trying not to burst into flames. ‘Think of Izuna,’ he reminded himself. ‘It’ll be over soon. Just remember Izuna.’ 

Not-Tobirama’s breath grew harsher against the back of his neck, and he started to grunt in time with his thrusts. His hands moved from between his shoulder blades and around his waist and back to his hips, gripping them tightly. His head he pressed against Madara’s back, and he thrust and grinded and fucked into him hard. 

Biting his lip, Madara closed his eyes, ignoring his oversensitive body shrieking in protest. A loud whimper tore out of his throat when Not-Tobirama thrust into him particularly hard. Apparently liking his reaction, he did it again, thrusting so hard it hurt. 

The vine over his mouth left a few splinters in his lips, and he focussed on that pain instead, tasting the tiny pin pricks of blood. He turned his head to breath in deeply, cracking open one eye to glance at the Senju behind him. 

The Senju had his teeth bared, and his black and red eyes were wild, bright with lust. A thin layer of sweat covered his body. Madara groaned, trying to ignore the sounds of their activities, the sound of skin on skin and heavy breathing and loud grunts. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Not-Tobirama rasped. “Sing for me, little bird.” He sank his teeth down into the flesh of his back, and Madara jolted with a groan. Pleased, Not-Tobirama licked the mark he made, resuming his frantic motions. 

Slowly and purposefully, Madara pushed back into him, letting a loud moan spill from his throat, more out of pain than pleasure. The difference didn’t matter to the man behind him. He braced himself as best he could, pressed down chest first into the mattress, rocking back to meet his thrusts. 

The sooner he came, the sooner it’d be over. Just a little more. Repeating the words like a prayer, Madara met his movements, ignoring the pain it brought with him, the vines digging into his skin and surely leaving bruises. 

He could feel his body shaking from the abuse, but he was a shinobi. He could take this. He had to… 

Fortunately, Not-Tobirma didn’t last quite so long this time. It was only a few minutes of hard thrusts later that he was spilling into him again, slumping over his back and growling into his ear, nipping at his neck and shoulders. 

With a content grunt, the Senju pulled out, dragging his tongue up along his spine. Madara stayed still, blinking slowly, tiredly. The vines pulled away from his ankles, but not his wrists. A little roughly, he turned Madara over onto his back. The motion sent a flare of pain up his spine, and he winced. 

Not-Tobirama grinned down at him, wide and feral, and the vine over his mouth slithered away with a wave of his hand. The moment it was gone, he was leaning down and kissing him, hands pulling hard at his hair, tongue delving into his mouth. 

Madara let him, too worn and sore to push back, and didn’t reciprocate. The Senju pulled back after a few minutes, his eyes dark, but looking sated. He brushed his fingers down Madara’s cheek, his wide grin growing even broader. 

“Better than I even imagined,” he crooned. “I know I had you once before, but that’s not quite the same…” 

His fingers trailed down his neck, over his chest, and stopped over his belly. Lowering his head, he nipped and licked his chest, sucking a few more marks into his skin. “Good birdie,” he drawled, leaning back again. With a final smirk, he vanished, apparently hirashining away. 

Madara groaned, closing his eyes and slumping. It took him a few minutes to summon the will to burn out of the restraints on his wrists. Once he had, he dragged himself to the shower, turning it onto the hottest setting and scrubbing his skin raw. 

He didn’t return to his room, but rather retreated to the guest room, where he laid on top of the sheets, staring at the ceiling. He felt like he was going to puke, but he had nothing to heave up. He was exhausted, but he doubted he would sleep. 

Stiffly, he rolled onto his side, curling in to himself. He had to get his Tobirama home.


	9. Owned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama has a headache
> 
> Alt.Tobirama shows Hashirama just show much power he has here. 
> 
> Enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I screwed up. So bad, I meant to do this in like....chapter 4? 5? Maybe 6? 
> 
> Anywhos. 
> 
> NIKKIA!
> 
> I had a string of an idea about the whole Uchiha's eyes things and then you solidified that idea with a comment and I decided to go with it and I was gonna credit you the idea and I TOTALLY FORGOT TO ADD IT IN AND NOW I FEEL LIKE A HORRIBLE PERSON. So, here. Here's a belated credit, Nikkia. You a champ. Thanxxxx
> 
> Also shout out to Akari_Urokiri for commenting on like....every single chapter. You keep me going. I have zero motivation otherwise. Thankxxxx

~*~*~

Tobirama frowned at the smoke, waving it away with a hand and picking up the apple serving as a test subject. It was blackened, burned, and it crumpled to dust when he touched it. 

“Well, that didn’t work,” Shiyana commentened, writing something down on her paper. 

“It smells like it went through a fire,” Izuna commented, wrinkling his nose. Tobirama sighed heavily. 

“It pretty much did.” He brushed the remains of the apple away, wearily wandering back over to his desk and collapsing onto his chair. They had been at it for three days, writing up new versions of his jutsu, mixing it with some of Mito’s seals, trying to find a way back to his dimension. 

So far, no luck. 

With a sigh, he glanced over at the other end of the lab. Two Naras, a Yamanaka, and three Senju, along with two Uchiha, were going through some more notes. In front of them were a few jaws, containing the eyes of the Uchiha. He glanced at Izuna again, who had his face titled in the direction of their failed experiment with a thoughtful expression. 

He was surprised by his behaviour. He approached the idea of his vision returning hesitantly, as had the other Uchiha. He supposed it made sense. They had all been blind for almost four years. Yes, their eyes had been preserved. But were they still useable? Would they be able to implant their eyes again, and return their sight? 

His eyes wandered over to Mito, who was working with two of the Nara clan. He admired her dedication. She was working through all the seals Tobirama had found, trying to find and create something to disrupt the obedience seal and the chakra suppressing seal. If they could give the Uchiha back their vision, their chakra, and their Sharingan, they, with the support of the other clans, may be able to overtake the Senju. 

It surprised him that so Senju were rebelling against other Tobirama’s rule. A lot thought he was needlessly cruel to the Uchiha. Many had been horrified at his order to exterminate the Uzumaki. But he was their clan head and Hokage. What choice had they had at the time? 

He forced his thoughts not to stray, frowning down at the jutsu pattern in front of him. How was this so hard? It should just be the same jutsu, just with more safeguards. But no matter what they tried, it backfired. They only used fruit to test it out so far, and each one had some back spliced or squashed or burned or melted into goo. Definitely not ready to test on human subjects. 

Swiping a hand down his face, he set the sheet aside, grabbed another paper, and started over. 

~*~~*

*Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*

~*~*~*~

Per usual, just before 11 am, Tobirama hirashined to the Hokage Tower, and strolled up the hall to Madara’s office. He could always just put his mark actually in the office, but he liked feeling Madara’s chakra spike when he sensed him walk up to his door. 

He stepped into the office, swinging the door shut behind him, his eyes immediately landing on the man sitting behind the desk. He looked small and dainty behind the large piece of furniture, swamped with paperwork. His wild mane of hair fell over his eyes, dark and shiny as always. 

Just as he had learned to, Madara looked up as the door closed, automatically setting his pen aside and pushing his papers away into a neat pile. His hands, covered in their customary black gloves, folded on the desk. He tensed, lips pressed into a thin line, watching him as he strode around the desk. 

Tobirama smirked, satisfied, and sat down on the corner of his desk. “Oh, please, don’t stop on my account. I won’t distract you from your work.” 

Madara leaned back, eyes narrowing and suspicious. Tobirama smirked back, folding his hands on his lap and watching Madara stare at him. 

After a moment, Madara pulled his papers back, picking up his pen and bending over his work again. Tobirama watched him read through it, making a note here and here, before signing off and shuffling it to another pile before grabbing the next. 

After a while, he broke the silence. “Do I look like your world's version of Tobirama?” he asked, tilting his head. Madara looked up, blinking, and raised one eyebrow. 

“No,” he said after a pause, eyes falling back to his paper. “There are similarities in your appearance, but no.” 

“How not?” 

Madara shrugged. “You’re older. More battle scarred, rougher. You have some stubble and our Tobirama does not. You have black sclera, and his are normal and white. Your hair is longer, a little darker, a little more disheveled. And your marks…” He waved vaguely at his face, and Tobirama hummed, lapsing into silence again and thinking. 

The minutes ticked by, and Madara slowly started to relax. Tobirama continued to stare at him, admiring the sharp cut of his jaw, his high and defined cheekbones, the shadows his lashes cast. His lips moved every now and then, mouthing along to something he was reading, and his eyebrows had an endearing little furrow between them. 

A few more minutes passed, and he reached out, tracing his fingers along his one visible eyebrow. Madara went so rigid he almost laughed, amused. His dark eyes shot up to him, narrowing into slits. 

Tobirama ignored him, running over his eyebrow, across his temple, and down his cheek. “Do continue,” he drawled. Madara’s eyes narrowed further, and his mouth twisted into an irritated scowl. Tobirama raised an eyebrow, fingers trailing up to brush aside the hair that persistently covered his right eye. 

After a minute, Madara huffed softly, turning back to his papers. Tobirama hummed, pleased, and his fingers continued to explore his face. They ran over his eyebrows, his temples, his cheeks and jaws. Occasionally, he’d slide one finger between his eyes and down his nose. His thumb swept under his eyes, rubbing over the dark shadows permanently etched there. His lashes brushed against his finger every time he blinked, and he found the sensation oddly pleasant. 

Madara had worked through more than half his pile when Tobirama moved his hand finally, reaching up to card his fingers through his bangs. Madara didn’t move, but his eye twitched irritably. 

Tobirama smirked, amused, hopping up off the desk and stepping closer to stand behind him. Madara’s back straightened, and he dug his fingers into his hair. “Relax,” he scolded, gently scratching his scalp. 

Madara growled low in his throat, not relaxing, but not pulling away. That was good enough, for now. Goal in mind, Tobirama started to comb his fingers through his hair, starting near the ends and working his way up. His fingers caught on the snarls and tangles, and he tugged them out, half gentle, and half harsh. 

It took almost 40 minutes until he could run his hands through the dark strands without getting hooked on yet another knot. Pleased, he tugged a little harder, insistent, and Madara tilted his head back, eyes flicking up to glower at him. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he drawled, tapping his forehead with a grin. Madara scowled, and he pulled his hands free of his hair, stepping around the chair again to stand in front of him. Curling a hand under his jaw, he tilted his face up, leaning down and kissing him, gently, sweetly. 

This time it only took a few seconds for Madara to respond, pressing back into him. Tobirama grinned to himself, running his tongue along his bottom lip. The Uchiha learned very quickly. He had to admit, he was a little surprised he was already reciprocating. 

They kissed for a while, slow and lazy, and Tobirama opened one eye to glance at the clock on the wall. Ah, it was almost time. A few minutes still. 

He reached down, grabbing the front of Madara’s black mantle, letting his tongue press against him more insistently, less innocently. He pulled Madara to his feet, and the Uchiha went slowly. Smirking, Tobirama turned them around, pushing Madara against the desk. Then, he grabbed the back of his thighs, pulling him up to sit on top of it. 

Madara sucked in a sharp breath, and he took advantage of that to slide his tongue inside his mouth, licking into it and exploring around. The Uchiha made a quiet sound of protest, but made no move to stop him. 

With a pleased rumble, Tobirama leaned onto him, slowly but firmly pushing him to lay on his back, his legs spread for Tobirama to stand between them. With one hand around his back, and the other bracing himself next to Madara’s head, Tobirama pressed down on him, moving his lips from his mouth to his jaw. 

His senses pinged, and he bit down to mask his smile. 

The door swung open right after a light knock, and a familiar face bounded into the room. 

“Hey, Mada-”

The voice trailed off. Madara went still as steel beneath him, neck twisting frantically to look at the newcomer. Tobirama lifted his head just a little, meeting the shocked and horrified gaze of one Senju Hashirama. 

“H-Hashirama,” Madara stammered, his eyes wide with dismay

“Good afternoon, lord First,” he drawled, his voice thick with disdain and sarcasm. Hashirama stared at them, and he smirked. Maintaining eye contact with his elder brother from this dimension, he leaned down again, licking a long, wet stripe up Madara’s neck. “Something you need?” he asked, finally looking away to devote his attention to marking up Madara’s neck some more. 

He felt Hashirama’s chakra flare violently. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, low and strong. Tobirama quirked one eyebrow, glancing up again. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, slowly and purposefully leaning up to brush his lips over the corner of Madara’s mouth. The Uchiha was so still underneath him it was like he was trying to imitate a statue. Tobirama could feel his heart pounding under the skin of his neck. 

Hashirama glared at him, his chakra spiking and rolling. “Get off,” he hissed. The floorboards under them were starting to creak. Tiny vines crept out of the gaps. Tobirama smirked, unimpressed. 

“Why should I? We’re just getting to the good part….” He dropped one hand to Madara’s hip, pulling him back and rocking his hips forward, letting him feel the hard on he’d been hiding for the past half hour. Madara jerked, making a choked sound, and he grinned when Hashirama’s chakra flared even harsher. 

“I would suggest you leave for lunch,” he suggested, pausing in his speech to press his lips against Madara’s for a hard, sloppy kiss. When he pulled back, he grinned sharply at the other Senju. “Unless you want to watch me fuck your best friend until he cries. Then you’re more than welcome to stay.” 

Madara made a sound like a dying cat. Hashirama’s chakra spiked. The floorboards cracked, and the walls groaned as vines started crawling out. Hashirama’s hands curled into fists. 

“Leave him be,” he snarled. Tobirama grinned wider. Hashirama was obviously struggling not to lose control. But if he did, he took the risk of hurting Madara. Ah, what an entertaining struggle. 

“No, you leave us be,” he drawled. “I don’t mind being watched, but Maddy here doesn’t like it. You wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable, would you?” 

The air grew heavy, oppressive. Madara shifted a little underneath him, and he stilled him with a hard squeeze on the hip. “Make your choice, Hashirama,” he growled. “Either you leave, or Madara hurts.” 

“You wouldn’t dare-”

In a flash, Tobirama pressed the handle of a kunai into Madara’s hand. He had taken it with him just for this. He pushed his chakra into the seal he had placed on Madara, flooding it with his will so powerfully he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“Madara, stab yourself in the throat.” 

Hashirama’s eyes widened in shock, and Madara’s in outrage. But the seal forced his hand, and hardly a second had passed before the blade was lodged in his neck, piercing his right carotid artery. 

Tobirama bent his head, licking the blood as it fell down his throat, the iron taste sweet on his tongue. 

With a startled cry, Hashirama leaped forward. Tobirama stepped back with a satisfied smirk, watching the blood pour out of Madara’s neck, down his chest and darkening his clothes. Madara’s breath sounded wet, strained. He let Hashirama take his place over Madara, his hands glowing with green healing chakra. His fingers pressed against Madara’s neck, putting pressure on the gushing wound and feeding his chakra into it at the same time. 

Tobirama watched with a smirk, admiring the way his red, so very red, blood contrasted with his pale skin. It was enticing, enthralling. He almost wanted to see more. Too bad he was too fragile for that. 

“What is wrong with you?” Hashirama demanded. His hands were covered in Madara’s blood, and Tobirama frowned at the sight. Madara’s blood belonged to him, and him alone. 

“A lot,” he said offhand, tilting his head and gazing at the red liquid. Hashirama looked horrified, and he smirked, licking his lips and tasting the blood still there. “Do you think we had similar experiences growing up?” he asked, just to see the disconcerted expression on his face. “Do you remember that time when we were kids, and I skinned and dissected that one cat? Remember how it yowled, so loud and frantic and nice? You put it down before I was done playing with it. Put it out of its misery, you said. You always were so soft.” 

The sickened disgust on Hashirama’s face had him suspecting that this world's version of Tobirama had never done that. He glanced back down at Madara’s neck, watching the skin knit itself together. Only a minute later, and Hashirama was lowering his bloody hands. They were shaking, in fury. 

Hashirama stepped toward one of the shorter tables on the other side of the room that contained a pitcher of water and a few towels. Tobirama had set them there last night just for this purpose. 

As Hashirama poured the water over his hands to clean them, he prowled towards Madara again, holding him down by the shoulders and attaching his mouth to his neck. He licked and sucked at the blood, mixing it with his saliva and swallowing it down. 

Madara didn’t fight him; in that short time frame, he had lost enough blood to make him feel a little weak. He felt Hashirama’s chakra spike again, and he looked up to find the Senju glaring at him. 

“He tastes so pleasant,” he said, drawing back, but only after licking at some of the dried blood. The hard flakes dissolved on his tongue. “A little like smoke and fire. You’d know that, wouldn’t you, Anija? With how many times you’ve fought each other, I’m sure you know what each other tastes like.” He leaned down a bit, still watching Hashirama, brushing his lips against Madara’s cheek. 

“Do you want to know what he tastes like, Hashirama? In more ways? Should I let you have him, just once, so you know why I can’t leave him alone?”

Just as he suspected, Hashirama’s chakra spiked again, and he laughed, pulling back. “I’m joking, obviously. No one can have him but me.” 

He leaned a little harder down on Madara’s shoulders. “Now, Hashirama. You will leave this room, and leave us in peace. Or I can have Madara hurt himself again, worse this time. And I can have him refuse you healing him. It’s easy, you know, to control him. He obeys me to save Izuna. And you’ll obey me to keep Madara from hurting more than he has to, won’t you?”

“Hashirama,” Madara said quietly. They both looked down at him, but he was gazing at Hashirama, still stretched out on his back. He managed a wobbly half smile. “It’s fine. Go.” 

“Madara-”

“Please.” 

Hashirama clamped his mouth shut, and Tobirama shot him a victorious smirk. Madara never asked Hashirama for anything. Now that he was, how could he refuse him? Hashirama sent him a despairing look, but stepped back, towards the door. 

Tobirama laughed, loud and cold, as the door closed behind him. “So predictable! You shinobi here, you’re so soft. So sacrificing to keep your loved ones safe. It’s so pathetic.” 

His hand lowered, grabbing the bottom of Madara’s mantle and yanking it up, bunching it up over his chest and stomach. As soon as it was out of the way, he was all but ripping his trousers down. 

He had been achingly hard since he started playing with Madara’s hair; he wasn’t about to ignore it anymore. Pushing Madara’s legs apart a little further, he reached down, freeing his erection just enough and pushing into Madara with no prep or warning. He was still a little loose from last night, but tight enough that it would hurt. 

As he predicted, Madara yelped, automatically jerking away. He pressed him down with a hand on his hip and his other fisted in his hair. “Stay still, little bird,” he rasped into his ear, pulling back and thrusting back in hard, making Madara squirm under him with a ragged, broken gasp. “Be good for me…” 

He licked up his neck, tasting faint traces of his blood. With a groan, he planted his feet, dragging Madara’s hips back to meet his every thrust. His blood roared in his ears, and his grip turned painful. Sage, he should do this more often. He was wired, keyed up from watching Madara bleed in front of him. 

The Uchiha was hot and tight around him, and his quiet, pained whimpers were delicious. “The things you do to me,” he growled, biting down on his shoulder and thrusting harder, faster, strong hands keeping him in place even as he tried to squirm away. 

With a savage growl, he pressed his lips harshly against Madara’s, shoving his tongue into his mouth and forcing him to taste his own blood. “I fucking…” He cut himself off, forcing him closer, rutting into him hard and brutal. “If I didn’t want to see you underneath me so much I would cut your throat right now.” He raked his teeth over the spot where the knife had driven in. “Seeing you bleed...fuck, it does things to me.” 

Madara whimpered quietly, trembling under him ever so slightly. Inspired, Tobirama blindly reached beside him, until his fingers made contact with the knife Madara had used on himself. He moved his mouth up again, distracting him by biting his lip, cutting open his mantle, and pricked his skin with the kunai’s bloodied tip. 

Madara jerked when the blade sunk in a little deeper, but Tobirama tightened his hold, leaning more weight down on him. “Stay,” he growled, pulling back and thrusting back in brutally hard, drawing a raspy gasp. He moved the knife up Madara’s chest, slicing a deep cut just under his collarbone. As the blood started to bead out, he leaned down, attaching his mouth to the wound and sucking on it, teeth and tongue lathering it with attention, until the blood stopped tricking out. 

When it had, Tobirama cut under his other collarbone, doing the same as before, sucking and licking his blood, mad with its taste. He etched a few more cuts on his chest and at the base of his neck, eagerly lapping up the blood that followed. At a particularly deep cut just over his right nipple, Madara jerked hard, tightening around him enticingly. 

With a snarl, Tobirama came, biting his nipple hard, grinding into him as he finished. Utterly sated, he leaned down over Madara, nudging his face to turn it, and kissed him, slow and long and deep. 

“We’ll have to do that again,” he rumbled, and enjoying the way Madara paled just a little more. One of his hands came up to his chest, shoving weakly. Far too pleased with himself, Tobirama let him, drawing out of him and tucking himself back into his clothes. 

Unable to help himself, he dug one finger into the cut under his right collarbone, causing it to let out a tiny trickle of fresh blood. It dribbled over his finger, and he brought it to his lips, sucking it off and groaning. “Yeah. We’re doing this again soon.”

He stepped back from between Madara’s legs, watching the Uchiha shakily push himself up to a sitting position. With slow, pained movements, he pulled his torn clothes back on, and Tobirama purred in content at the bruises and bite marks and cuts littering his body. 

“Go get cleaned up,” he ordered. “I’ll see you soon.” With a final leer, he reached for the marker at his lab, and hiarshined away. 

~*~~*

Feeling like a man old beyond his years, Madara slowly and stiffly made his way out his office, tiredly flaring his chakra and finding Hashirama in his office. Mito was there….and so was Izuna. 

He groaned inwardly, but decided he could deal with his brother's dramatics. Getting himself fixed up sounded much better right now. He felt weak and sick from blood loss and Not-Tobirama’s actions. With a sigh, he dragged himself into the room, and all conversation immediately stopped. 

“Madara!” Izuna cried, surging towards him and gently holding his face between his hands. “What the hell, Madara?!” He turned him around, gently nudging him back to sit on one of the chairs before Hashirama’s desk. 

He hissed as soon as he did, pain jolting up his spine. Hashirama crouched down in front of him, taking a hand in one of his and pressing the other in the center of his chest. Healing chakra radiated out of his palm, coursing through his body, soothing his aches and pain. 

Despite himself, Madara sighed in relief, eyes closing and unconsciously leaning into Izuna pressed against his side, his hands softly petting his hair. A damp cloth ran over his cheek, and he opened his eyes again, finding Mito crouching next to her husband, her usually poised and regal expression pained. 

She silently wiped off the blood smeared on his cheek, and he winced a little. So, she knew too now. He shifted his weight, pleased when the movement brought no pain. Hashirama’s hand brushed over his chest, clearly tracing the new cuts Not-Tobirama had carved into his skin. 

“Madara,” he said quietly. Madara gave a quiet hum to signal his listening. “How would you like a mission? A week long or more. Get yourself out of the village for a bit.” 

Madara blinked down at him. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh oh ohhhhh, now what? :D


	10. Infested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took me so, so long. It just wouldn't turn out right. Not fully satisfied with this, but oh well. 
> 
> Madara goes on a little murder spree.  
> Alt.Tobirama goes on an angry spree.

~*~*~

On one hand, Madara wished he was alone. He wanted to rage and burn and light everything on fire and watch it all burn down around him. 

But on the other hand, he liked having people look at him with fear and respect again, intimidated by his reputation, his power, following his orders and commands without a word of protest or a look of disdain. 

It fed his ego, which had seriously deflated the past week. 

Hashirama sent him, and 4 other shinobi, to the Land of Lightning. The Kage of Kumogakure, the Hidden Cloud Village, was apparently struggling with his village's slowly growing defenses. Their progress was being severely impeded by a group of some rogue shinobi causing trouble, sabotaging the work going into the protective outer wall. 

It was just the kind of work Madara was itching for. Sprinting through the Land of Fire, leaping from branch to branch, was exhilarating, freeing. He ran at the front of the group, leading the way, as he should. 

At his insistence, Izuna was part of the squad. The rest was made up of a Nara and two Yamanaka. They were originally going to take an Akimichi along, but he unfortunately, came down with a case of food poisoning. 

How ironic. 

They had been travelling for two days already, and despite the growing distance between them and Konoha, the unease knotting his stomach grew tighter with every step he took. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but for some reason he couldn’t help but feel taken off guard. 

He glanced back at Izuna, looping along at his heels. His little brother grinned when he saw him looking back at him, and he playfully stuck out his tongue. Madara raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and looked forward. 

Hashirama hadn’t understood his reasoning, at first, for wanting Izuna with him. Luckily, it didn’t take much to convince him. Madara felt infinitely better knowing his brother was with him and not stuck in the village with...him. 

He forced the thought away before it could take root. No, nope. He was out on a mission, to hopefully secure alliance with the Cloud Village and the Leaf Village. Now was not the time to let his thoughts stray to...less pleasant things. No matter how consuming and distracting they might be. 

Far up ahead, the forests were starting to thin, and the rocky peaks of the mountains around the Cloud Village could be seen above the trees. His hand twitched, itching to grasp the handle of his scythe. It had been far too long since the blade had shed blood. 

~*~*~*  
*Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~*~

His senses told him so. But he went to see anyway. 

Standing in the empty office, Tobirama glared harshly at the unoccupied chair behind the vacant desk, his chakra starting to swirl with fury. Madara was gone, and he could feel his chakra signature leaving Konoha at a rapid pace, with Izuna and three others. A Nara and two Yamanaka. And just where were they going, mhm? 

Willing himself not to let go and destroy the room with a few violent vines, he spun on his heel and stormed out into the hall, marching towards Hashirama’s office. The Hokage of this world looked up when the door flung open, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes glinting in smug satisfaction. 

“Where is he?” he snarled, slamming his hands down on the desk and glowering at him. Hashirama leaned back in his seat, looking utterly unruffled. 

“That is the village's business, not yours.” 

He curled his lip at his tone. “You do know I can just pick up his signature wherever he is, right? It’s not easy to mask that presence of his. Do yourself a favour, lord First.” 

Hashirama raised an eyebrow, giving him a considering stare. Of course, Tobirama knew where Madara was off to. But he didn’t know why, and he wanted to. Plus, he wanted to see if this Hashirama would bend to his will, just as the one in his world had. 

“Madara is off to the Hidden Cloud Village with a few other shinobi to assist them in setting up their defenses,” Hashirama said finally. 

“When will he be back?” 

“Unknown.” 

Tobirama curled his hands into fists, willing his chakra not to erupt from him. “And you sent him, without consulting me?” 

“I wasn’t aware I had to ask your permission to send Madara anywhere.” The insolence! 

“He is MINE!” Tobirama snarled, flaring his chakra. The room’s temperature dropped violently; frost starting to creep over the windows. “He does not go ANYWHERE unless I permit him!” 

“Madara is his own person!” Hashirama roared back, surging to his feet and shoving his chair back. His chakra flared too, heavy and warm and oppressive. 

Tobirama sneered. Apparently, this Hashirama seemed to hold more power and fighting spirit than the Hashirama he knew. And so did Madara. Did that mean that the other version of himself did too? Not likely. 

“You are a mere visitor here,” Hashirama growled. Vines grew over the windows, pushing through the panes, and crawling over the walls and floor. “You hold no power, no authority. You cannot force anyone’s hand right now. So I strongly suggest you think about your actions. We here tend to be forgiving, and understanding. But you are crossing a line, Tobirama. If it weren’t for Madara and his theory, I would kill you now.” 

“If it weren’t for Madara, I’d have killed you days ago,” Tobirama hissed. Without further adieu, he hirashined back to his lab, and let his chakra run wildly out of control. Within minutes, the lab was trashed. 

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, uncurling his fists. His nails had dug so hard into his palms that he had pierced the skin. 

Fine, then. He would show them all what happens when they didn’t follow his whims. 

He drew his chakra back into himself, channeling it to his hand. A familiar itch tinged up his arm. With a slowly growing smirk, he reached for the marker in the center of the village, hirashining off. 

~*~*~

Crouching, Madara rocked back on his heels, watching the group of shinobi scale up the cliff below him. Amatuers. Is this really how they thought to bring the new forming Cloud Village down? 

He shook his head, disappointed. Beside him, Izuna sighed, mirroring Madara with his disappointed expression. “I was hoping for something a little more challenging, you know? This is going to be so unsatisfying.” 

Madara hummed softly. “You take the right, I’ll take the left?” he offered. Normally, he would just kill them all. But Izuna was restless too, and Madara was a good brother. Who encouraged murder. 

“Got it,” Izuna said, drawing his blade. A soft sigh behind them had Madara turning with a raised eyebrow. 

“Please, go ahead,” one of the Yamanaka on their team said dryly. Kuana; she was a witty woman, her hair the usual blond and her eyes the usual blue. “It’s not like you need help.” 

“Exactly!” Izuna said brightly. Madara smirked, just a little. 

“We’ll be back in a minute,” he said cheerfully. With hardly a thought or effort, he channeled some chakra down to his feet, standing up and sprinting down the cliff face. Izuna tore after him with a delighted whoop. 

The shinobi looping up the cliff faltered when they saw them, but kept coming. Well, clearly they didn’t know who they were. Madara felt a little offended. 

He swung his scythe, tearing through the shinobi closest to him. His gunbai stayed in its place on his back. They weren’t worth the effort of taking it in hand. 

He was disappointed when he finally touched level ground. He frowned at the bodies surrounding him and Izuna, still feeling unsettled and wired. Izuna grumbled behind him, pacing among the dead as if hoping one of them would sit up so he could kill them again. 

With a bored wave of his hand, Madara set the corpses on fire. “We should report back to the Kage,” their Nara companion said, as they joined them on the ground. 

“Can we just...kill some more people?” Madara complained, wiping the blood from his scythe. He hadn’t even used any fire other than burning the bodies. 

“There’s no more people to kill,” Kuana said with a shrug. “We completed our mission. Let’s go home.” 

The mention of home had Madara’s anxious nerves spiking. He exchanged a glance with Izuna, and his little brother’s gaze was pitying. 

Somehow, that was even worse. 

~*~*

Fortunately for him, they ran into more people to burn on the way home. The Kage of the Hidden Cloud asked them to find the rogue shinobis base, suspecting more people might be involved. 

He was right, and Madara had never been so pleased. It was a large rebel cell, but between him and their team, it was over in minutes. It may have been quick, but it was enough to send his blood singing through his veins with satisfaction. He was in an uncommonly good mood the entire way back, racing with Izuna, throwing fire at each other. 

The rest of the team tolerated their antics with bemusement, keeping out of the way of the fire they threw back and forth. 

The team's good mood followed them into the village, where they stopped their sprinting and strolled leisurely through the streets. His good mood lasted for maybe five minutes after they passed through the gates. 

It seemed uncommonly busy in the market place as they walked through. People from all clans were all over the place. There were a lot of Uchiha around, too. The all too familiar feeling of unease returned, shoving aside his good mood like it never existed. The Uchiha, while part of the village, still liked to keep to themselves. So why would they all of the sudden be hanging around in the marketplace in such large numbers? And at this time of day? 

His answer came in the form of a white haired Senju that hirashined right in front of him, seizing Madara by the front of his armor. “And just where the fuck have you been?” Not-Tobirama hissed, his black and red eyes dark with fury. 

Izuna and his team froze behind him. Madara could feel the surprised gazes landing on them, and breathed in deeply. 

“I’m sure you already know,” Madara said, his voice steady. Reaching up, he curled his fingers around Not-Tobirama’s wrist, squeezing. The Senju’s lip curled in fury. 

“You dare?” he seethed. His hand was shaking just a little, his skin cold, with fury. Madara tightened his grip. 

“Let go,” he said lowly, letting his skin head up. Smoke started curling up from his hair. 

“You think you can just go about your merry way whenever you want?” Not-Tobirama demanded, ignoring him. “You dare to go behind me back?” 

“It wasn’t all that hard,” Madara snarked back. His hand burst into fire, the smell of burnt skin rising from their contact, and he finally shoved Not-Tobirama back. 

“I OWN you!” Not-Tobirama roared, so loud and aggressive that, unable to help himself, Madara took a step back. “You will know your place, you-” 

With a swell of fury, Madara let his flames spread, casting them all over his body. His temper had snapped. “You know what?!” he half shrieked. “I don’t fucking care if we don’t get our Tobirama back! I’m going to fucking kill you!” 

Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened, and his chakra flared violently. “Give me your best shot,” he taunted. With a shriek of rage, Madara lunged forward, drawing both his scythe and his gunbai. Not-Tobirama drew his katana, lifting it in the nick of time and blocking his strike. 

The moment his attack was thwarted, Madara crouched, dragon sweeping his leg and successfully kicking Not-Tobirama's legs out from under him. The Senju snarled, managing to grab a fistful of his hair as he went down, hauling Madara down with him. 

Automatically, Madara let go of his weapons, pushing himself forward to drive Not-Tobirama down on the ground. He was burning, his flames licking wilder and higher than usual. One of his hands pressed against his jaw, and he grinned widely as the skin burned under his palm. 

His brief satisfaction faded almost immediately as a few vines coiled around him. One curled around his waist, yanking him off Not-Tobirama and to the side. His flames brightened further, burning the vines off, and he scrambled back, swiping up his scythe and gunbai. 

As he got back to his feet, Not-Tobirama brought his hands together. Madara grinned, activating his Sharingan. The clarity it brought him had him straightening, swinging his scythe. “Let us see what you have then,” he said with a smirk. 

Not-Tobirama hissed. Vines curled up all around him, making him think briefly of Hashirama. Let’s see if he wields the Mokuton as well as his elder brother.

The vines surged towards them, and he brought his fiery hands up, making a few hand signs, and breathing the Uchiha’s fireball, incinerating the vines before they got too close. The moment they were gone, Not-Tobirama was tearing through the smoke like a demon. Trails of water followed behind him, sharp like spears. 

Madara narrowly dodged the first water spear, and evaporated the other with a bright flare of fire. Not-Tobirama sent another vine at him, thick and sharp. It would have impaled him through the chest if he hadn’t ducked, lifting both hands and burning it away. 

“I am unimpressed,” Madara said, smirking. And he was. For all his high and mighty behaviour, Not-Tobirama wasn’t as fast or as aggressive as he was expecting. “I expected more.” 

“You shall have more,” Not-Tobirama leered. And he gave more. 

Madara regretted his taunt as soon as Not-Tobirama made another few hand signs, Sharingan cheerfully informing him what he was going to do. Biting back a curse at the familiar jutsu, that Hashirama often used and Madara knew for a fact hurt, he cast up a wall of fire in an effort to burn away the barrage of vines barreling towards him. 

Before the fire wall could dissipate, vines crumpling to ash, Madara leaped through them, heaving his scythe above his head and bringing it down. Not-Tobirama blocked, and Madara gathered his chakra in his feet, powering his movements and springing back again. He covered his action with a barrage of fire balls, forcing Not-Tobirama to summon a wall of water to protect himself. 

The fire covering his body burned brighter and hotter than they ever had before, feeding off of his fury and desire to see the Senju burn. With a cackle, Madara sprang in again, chaka and fire flaring, lifting a leg to roundhouse the Senju in the face. 

A vine blocked his foot just before he could make contact, but that didn’t deter him. With a savage smirk, Madara hopped up, successfully kicking Not-Tobirama hard in the chest with his other foot, following up with a funnel of fire at his face. He pressed on, letting go of his gunbai for just a moment to punch the Senju in the face. His lip split under the blow, causing a trickle of blood to fall down over his chin. Bending his leg, Madara kneed him hard just under the ribs, driving up into his diaphragm. Lastly, he slammed his elbow under his chin, knocking his head back with a loud crack. 

Not-Tobirama roared, flinging him back with a wall of thick vines. Madara let himself be pushed back, landing in a crouch and watching his flames burn the vines away. 

Not-Tobirama stormed through the flaming vines, frost crawling over his skin. Small pieces peeled off, flakes falling to the ground. “You think you can take me on?” he rasped, lips pulling up into a deranged grin. “You can do nothing against me!” 

“Are you sure?” Madara taunted. “It seems I’m doing a good job so far.” He glanced pointedly at the blood on the Senju’s face, and he sneered, wiping it away with his sleeve. 

“Oh, darling, you have no idea.” His demonic eyes left him, flicking to the sides. Automatically, Madara glanced in the same direction. A large number of villagers, shinobi and civilian alike, had gathered at the edges of the market where they were throwing down, wisely keeping out of reach of the fire and water and vines. 

Not-Tobirama pointed to a group to his right; a mix of Uchiha, Yamanaka, and a few Inuzuka. “You all,” he thundered. “Take your blades and stab yourselves in the chest.” 

His Sharingan whirled, reading the movements of the villagers before they could act, detecting the flare of chakra as the obedience seal on their necks activated. Swearing loudly, Madara lunged towards them, swiftly divesting them of their weapons, ramping up the heat and melting them together. 

“How dare you?!” he screeched, whirling back to Not-Tobirama now that the citizens were unable to stab themselves. 

“You left the village unprotected,” Not-Tobirama said with glee, parrying the fireball Madara sent his way with a group of vines. “This is your fault, Madara. If you had stayed like you were supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened.” 

He turned his gaze again, grin turning dark. “Izuna, those Yamanaka there with you. Kill them, and then yourself.” 

“You fucking-” Madara cut himself off in favour of lunging toward his brother, extinghusing the fire emanating from his body, tackling Izuna to the ground and ripping his sword from his hand. Izuna fought him, eyes blank, hands reaching for any weapon he could grab. With another curse, Madara twisted, pressing Izuna down face-first into the ground, seizing his wrists and pinning them behind his back. 

“You Inuzuka there. Set your dogs on anyone from the Akimichi clan. Yamanakas, destroy the minds of the Hyuugas.” 

Fucking dammit. 

With a violent surge of chakra, Madara activated Mangekyou Sharingan, feeling the familiar drain and the rush of power as Susanoo started to form around him. Its skeletal ribs formed around him and Izuna, and its arms reached to the village members, keeping the Inuzuka’s from the Akimichi’s and the Yamanaka’s from successfully breaking the Hyuuga’s minds. 

Not-Tobirama turned to a group of four Uchiha. “You four, kindly kill each other for me.” Hissing, Madara willed his Susanoo to hold Izuna down and still, leaping up and out of the construct's ribs. 

He barely managed to stop a knife from slitting the throat of an Uchiha woman, bending the users wrist hard, kicking the back of his knee at the same time and bringing him down to the ground, where he immobilized him with a standing armlock.

In the next instant, he kicked a kunai from another’s hand, sending it careening away, and hefted his leg up to drive his heel into the Uchiha’s throat, knocking him down too and pinning him in place with a foot between his shoulder blades. 

Sage, fighting not to kill was hard. With his one free hand, Madara sent a wall of fire between the other two Uchiha, causing one to step back into his range. He grabbed her by the back of her mantle, shoving her head down and kneeing her in the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. Three down, one to go. 

The last moved as though to stab the first man, and he shoved the woman down, grabbing him instead when he came close. Taking a risk, he let go of the first man, curling his fists into the Uchiha’s shirt and pivoting, throwing the Uchiha over his shoulder and down onto his back, hard. 

The woman started to stand again, and he grabbed her hair, yanking her back, then shoving her forward and into the ground once more. 

His eyes ached with the demands of Mangekyou and Susanoo, and his chakra felt significantly drained. “All out of hands to use, Madara,” Not-Tobirama drawled, absentmindedly flipping a kunai over in his hand. He glanced over at the shinobi Madara had successfully restrained, then at the others watching in bewildered horror, his gaze landing on a young woman, with her young daughter clinging to her leg. His lips twisted, into a terrible imitation of a sneer and a smile. 

He strode over to the woman, taking one of her hands and pressing the kunai’s handle into her palm. “Kill her,” he ordered, nodding down at the girl. The woman's eyes widened, welling with tears. But the obedience seal on her neck pinged, and she brought the knife to her daughter's neck. 

“Wait!” Madara shrieked, and Not-Tobirama grabbed her wrist again, stopping her. He turned to look over at Madara with a mockingly curious smile. 

“Something you want to say, Madara?” he half sang. 

“Don’t,” he rasped, tightening his grip on one of the Uchiha he held down when he twitched. “Let them go. Leave them be.” 

“Is that an order, or a request?” Not-Tobirama drawled. Madara stared back at him. “How much does Konoha mean to you, Madara? Will you stand by and watch its citizens turn on each other? Will you watch them kill themselves and each other as I ask them to?” 

“No,” Madara hissed, and Not-Tobirama’s lips curled up into a pleased smirk. 

“Then get on your knees and beg my forgiveness and mercy.” 

Madara stared at him with horror, eyes flitting to the citizens of Konoha all around them, the ones being controlled by Not-Tobirama and not. Some were staring at Not-Tobirama in horror and fear. Others were looking at Madara, expressions varying between surprise, disbelief, fear. 

Madara hesitated, and Not-Tobirama smiled. “Apparently, they aren’t all that important to you,” he said, shaking his head. “”Go ahead and kill your daughter,” he said to the woman, letting go of her hand. 

“No!”

Not-Tobirama stopped her again, looking over his shoulder with an expectant look. 

Madara swallowed thickly, taking a risk and letting go of the Uchiha he was holding, stepping back and towards Not-Tobirama. They made no move to attack each other. Not-Tobirama turned around to face him, dark eyes glittering with smug glee. 

Swallowing his pride, Madara slowly dropped to his knees, setting his weapons down beside him. His Sharingan faded, and Susuanoo did with it. He bowed his head, looking down at his hands on his knees. “Please,” he said quietly, the word tasting like dirt on his tongue. “Please, leave Konoha and her people be. Take your anger out on me, not them. Please, I beg of you. Spare them.” His breath hitched just a little as he spoke, and Not-Tobirama smiled, cold and sharp. 

“Was that so hard?” he asked, circling him like a wolf would a lamb. His hand reached out, fingers trailing over his forehead, his hair. He paused behind him, sweeping his hair off to the side. Madara closed his eyes, bracing himself. It still hurt when Not-Tobirama bit the back of his neck, sinking his teeth into the skin and drawing blood. He stayed there for a moment, working the flesh, sucking on the drops of blood. Then he pulled away, pulling his hair back and circling around to his front again. His index finger brushed over his eyebrow, dipping down to run over his nose, his lips, and finally his hand gripped his chin, tilting his face up to look at him. 

The look on his face made Madara shudder, just a little, but enough that Not-Tobirama felt it. He stepped closer, grabbing Madara’s collar and half lifting him. Madara didn’t fight him, letting his hands fall limply at his sides. 

“You ask for my forgiveness but you continue to test me,” he said, almost kindly. “You still hold onto your pride and power, but it means nothing, not anymore.” He leaned down further, his breath hot on his face. His voice lowered, so that only Madara could hear him. “Shall I describe to them what I do to you?” he whispered, mouth brushing his cheek. “Should I explain how you look, how you sound, when I fuck you? Should I tell them how you yield to me, how you submitted to my demands, how you asked me to fuck you? Should I describe what I intend to do to you tonight?”

“Please,” Madara breathed softly, curling his fingers into the fabric of his pants. “Please, just leave them out of this.” 

“What will you do to protect them?” Tobirama drawled, leaning back and raising his voice so the shinobi around them could hear. “What would you give me?” 

Madara met his gaze. “Anything,” he vowed. Not-Tobirama’s eyes glinted. 

“Even your eyes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love cliffhangers. They're the worst, aren't they?  
> So that begs the question. Does Madara keep his eyes? Or does he lose them? Decisions, decisions...
> 
> And yes, Alt. Tobirama went around slapping seals on people


	11. Visionary Revival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not to worry, our Tobi is fine. Just at a bit of a block :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, WOW, you guys..... Thanks so much for all the comments! I was pleasantly surprised this morning! Which brings to light some things I need to clarify! I kinda forget sometimes that my thoughts are mine are no one knows whats going on in my head.   
> -Tobirama went around and sealed maybe half of the village or so. Since he's fast af and the seal forbids the affected from talking about it, and since Hashirama is not a sensor, our Hokage had no idea whats going on. *Although, spoiler, a normal, unaffected person informed him when Mada and Tobi were fighting; not to worry, he's fine :) )  
> -Also, Tobirama killed Madara in his world 4 years ago. Now that he has him back, he's lowkey crazy. He has plans for Konoha, but our madman is patient. He's willing to put it on hold to satisfy his...wants.   
> -In his Konoha, Alt.Tobirama has a seal on practically everyone, which is why he was able to force his clan to help wipe out the Uzumaki, and why the Nara are so anxious about him thinking about making them next. He rules with an iron fist, and they can't do anything about it. Literally.

~*~*~~

Tobirama frowned down at the eye sitting innocently in the shallow dish, saturated with saline solution. Quiet and still and out like a light, Izuna laid on the medical bed in front of him, his breaths deep and even. 

“Are you ready?” Shiyana asked, drying her hands. Tobirama pursed his lips. 

“No, but let’s give it a shot. Hashirama?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” His brother from another dimension stood beside him, his hands glowing green. He had retained his healing abilities, even if they were muted. They would be enough. 

“Alright. He’s fully out?” 

Another Nara, Kichimi, nodded, pulling Izuna’s eyelid back and pinning it in place. “We are all ready to begin,” she said. Tobirama inhaled deeply. He had, of course, tended to many injuries. But he had never tried to implant an eye before. 

Checking the gloves on his hands, he slowly reached out, taking the eye, and carefully grasping the small stump of the optic nerve so it wouldn’t get damaged. That was going to be the trickiest part: reconnecting the severed halves of the optic nerve. His other self had been quick and effective when removing the Uchiha’s eyes, cutting through the optic nerve close to the eye. If they could fully reconnect it, they might be able to coax the eye back to working order. 

Tobirama had been worried that the time away from their hosts would cause the eyes to degenerate too far. But whatever fluid his other self had placed the eyes in preserved them well. After some investigation, he found out why. The other Tobirama was experimenting with their eyes, cutting them open and figuring out how they worked, comparing them to the eyes he had taken from the Uchiha Madara of this world. 

It was like the eyes had been frozen in time; the rods and cones seemed to be fully functioning. Most of the corneas were in good condition. The retinas were still attached and hanging on. And most surprising, the vitreous humor was still maintaining the eyes shape, the nutrients contained within preserved. 

Theoretically, it would work. Now they just had to execute it. 

He moved the eye closer, guiding the nerve stump towards its cut base. Hashirama’s chakra started to feed into both ends. With him easing the process, Tobirama slowly cut off the severed tip of the stump, exposing new neurons. Normally, nerve cells don’t heal or regrow. When they did, the process was terribly slow and it never really did complete. 

But with luck, they could convince them anyway. Slowly, and carefully, Tobirama picked at the optic nerve stump of the eye with his tweezers, exposing individual dendrites to synapse with terminals of the neurons of the optic nerve leading to the brain. 

Hashirama’s chakra flowed over the two nerves, encouraging them closer, until there was hardly any space between them. Then he moved on, bringing the nerve endings in close proximity with each other, following Tobirama’s movements as he exposed dendrites and axon terminals. 

The process was long, and painstaking. They moved slowly, with great care, making sure the optic nerve was attaching again properly. It took nearly three hours for just one eye, and then they moved onto the next right away. 

By the time they were finished, Hashirama was pale, and Tobirama’s normally steady hands were shaking a little from the stress and strain. 

Shiyana took care of the finishing touches, cleaning everything with sterile solution, wrapping a bandage over Izuna’s eyes. “He’ll be out for a while yet,” she informed them. Hashirama yawned hugely, collapsing onto a chair. 

“You should get some rest,” Tobirama said, frowning. The other Senju was indeed pale, and a thin layer of sweat covered his skin. 

“I’m fine,” he said immediately. Tobirama narrowed his eyes at him. 

“No, you’re not. Go nap. Now.” He poked and prodded and shoved at his shoulders, until Hashirama gave an overly dramatic whine and obediently plodded towards the bed shoved in the corner of the lab. He mumbled something about ‘just resting my eyes’, and promptly passed out, snoring quietly. 

Shaking his head, Tobirama automatically covered him with a blanket, brushing his hair out of his face so he didn’t suffocate on it, and silently strode back to the busier half of the lab. 

Shiyana was giving him a strange look. “What?” he prompted, sitting at his desk and reaching for a stack of papers. 

“Nothing,” she said absentmindedly. “I just...I can’t believe you’re him. And he’s you. You’re so...different.” 

“I like to think that I’d never enslave anyone,” he agreed absentmindedly. Shiyana shook her head. 

“No, I mean…” She paused, and squinted at him. “You’re so much calmer, more laid back. You actually...listen to us.” 

Tobirama looked up, and frowned at her. “I….don’t really know what to say to that,” he admitted after a pause. “Thanks?” 

Shiyana smiled a little. It was kinda sad. 

“How did this all happen?” he asked after a spell of silence. “Izuna once told me that the other version of me was...normal. Or normal-er. What happened to change that?” 

Shiyana sighed, tucking a strand of stubborn black hair back behind her ear. “The war, that’s what. It can drive anyone to madness. But there was always something a little off about Tobirama. He’d dissect animals while they were still alive. He didn’t seem to have any morals or anything. He never cried, not even when his brothers or parents died. He never cared if he was hurt. I saw him take a sword through the chest with a smile, and he snapped his attackers neck with the most deranged laugh…” 

She paused again “Things didn’t go down the way they’re recorded,” she said quietly. “Tobirama tries to drill it into everyone's head that the Uchiha clan, and Madara, didn’t want the fighting to end. The opposite was true, you know. Tobirama urged Hashirama to keep fighting, to wipe them out, but Hashirama always refused. He and Madara knew each other, you see. They met as children. Even if they had to fight on the battlefield, they were still friends, to an extent.” 

“The same in my world,” Tobirama said, remembering how Hashirama would sneak back into the Senju compound after his semi-secret rendezvous with Madara. 

Shiyana smiled a little. “It wasn’t really a secret after a while. Madara and Hashirama were discussing making peace, building their village, when Tobirama snapped. He attacked Hashirama a little after, stealing his power. As soon as he had, he turned on the Uchiha who were there to make peace. Madara fought back, refusing to let his clan be slaughtered. But…. Well. I’m sure you know the rest.” 

Tobirama nodded grimly. “Tobirama won,” he said. “And he took over as the Senju clan head, and became Hokage when Konoha was founded.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a time, lost in their own thoughts. “Holy sage,” Tobirama said suddenly, eyes widening. 

Shiyana startled a little, surprised by his unusually loud outburst. Tobirama pointed a finger at her, then at himself, and then at his paper, too excited to put it to words. Shiyana shoved a pen into his hand, and he started writing, furiously scribbling his thoughts down before he lost them. She watched over his shoulder, bemused. 

“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head at the complicated scrawl on the paper. He turned back to her, with a broad grin stretched on his face. 

“I think I figured it out.” 

~*~*~

He did not, in fact, figure it out. 

At least not the right way. 

With a disappointed scowl, he tucked the paper containing the new jutus and seal away. It could come in handy, one day. If he ever got home. He raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated. Shiyana put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. 

“We’ll get there,” she soothed, her rough voice unusually gentle. “We’re getting closer.” 

“I know,” he muttered, flaring at the mess of papers in front of him. “But not close enough. I’ve been here for almost two and a half weeks. Does time work the same here? How long has this other Tobirama been in my world? What if he ruins it, like he did this one?” 

“The world is not ruined,” Shiyana said. “It is simply misled. We will get it back on track.” 

“Will we?” he asked despairing. “It’s never taken me so long to decipher a jutsu before. It shouldn’t be this hard! Why is it not working?!” 

“I don't know,” Shiyana said quietly. Tobirama sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he got. Seeing what had happened to this world, under his other selves rule…. What if, when he came home, his world was like that too? 

What if Hashirama lost his power? What if he destroyed the Uzumaki? What if he blinded and enslaved the Uchiha? 

What if he killed Madara? Sage, what if, when...IF….he came home, everything was different?

He exhaled shakily. He couldn’t let those kinds of thoughts distract him. He had to get home, and that’s what he had to focus on. He was drawn out of his musings by Kichimi entering from the secret room of Uchiha eyes, which they had converted to a medical lab. 

“Izuna is awake!” she said excitedly. Tobirama was up and on his feet before he even realized, hurrying after her into the lab, Shiyana hard on his heels. 

The Uchiha was indeed awake, propped up with a million pillows. His slender fingers were touching the bandages over his eyes, and his breath was a little laboured. 

“Izuna,” Tobirama called, announcing his presence. “How do you feel?” Shiyana placed her hand on his forehead, checking for fever.

“Tired,” Izuna said slowly. “Weirdly tired. Like I was just out fighting for 3 days straight. My eyes...they hurt…” He said so wondrously, as if realizing the implications of what he said. “I can feel them!” 

His fingers curled under the bandages, but Tobirama stopped him. “Easy,” he scolded. “You’ve been without sight for 4 years, and your eyes haven’t done any work in that time. You need to give them time to adjust. We’ll take the bandages off by layers. Keep your eyes open, if you can. Let them adjust to the increasing light. But if it hurts, close them. We don’t want to strain them too much.” 

Izuna nodded, lowering his hands to clasp them anxiously on his lap. Satisfied, Tobirama started to slowly unwind the bandages, pausing every once in a while to let Izuna adjust to the slowly brightening light. 

Finally, there was only one layer left. Tobirama slowly, painfully slowly, slid the bandages up to his forehead. When it was off, he was staring down into Izuna’s dark, dark eyes. They stared back at him, wide. 

“Oh….So that’s what you look like.” 

~*~*~

“Even your eyes?”

Not-Tobirama’s question sent ice shooting through his veins. He dug his fingers into the sides of his legs, resisting the urge to shake. His eyes. Izuna’s eyes, really, seeing as they traded a while ago. 

He couldn’t lose them. 

But Konoha…. He glanced around at the villagers, then closed his eyes. 

“If that’s what it takes,” he said quietly. Not-Tobirama’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. He pulled the kunai out of the shaking woman's hand, and instead held it out to Madara. 

“Go ahead then. Give me your greatest asset. And maybe I’ll consider you forgiven.” 

Madara stared at the knife, trying not to think about it as he took it. This was going to hurt. Oh sage, was this ever going to hurt. 

He ran his gloved thumb over its tip, feeling the sharpened edge. “Okay,” he said quietly, looking up to find Not-Tobirama watching him with a bizarrely excited expression. 

He shifted the blade to his right hand, lifting his left to pull his eyelid back. A vine curled around his wrist, holding it firmly to the ground. 

“That’s enough,” a voice thundered, flooding Madara with relief. Not-Tobirama scowled, turning around and glaring at Hashirama as he approached. A number of shinobi marched behind him, their expressions grim. With a discrete flare of his senses, Madara noticed they had no seals on them. 

“Madara, drop the knife,” the Senju commanded, his voice significantly gentler. Madara wasn’t about to say no to his Hokage. The knife fell to the ground, and he leaned back to sit on his heels, tugging away from Not-Tobirama’s loosened hold. 

“Tobirama,” Hashirama continued. “You are out of line. I tolerated your actions long enough, but no more.” 

“You think you can stop me?” Not-Tobirama sneered. 

“I think I can give it a pretty good shot,” he replied. His chakra flared aggressively, and Not-Tobirama let go of Madara, turning to face him. Madara started to stand, but his muscles locked without his command, keeping him kneeling beside the white haired demon. These obedience seals were starting to get really, really, annoying. 

Not-Tobirama scanned the crowd of shinobi facing him, his lips twisting even more. “That’s cute, Anija. Really. I admire your efforts. But you know you can’t beat me.” 

“I don’t have to beat you. I just have to contain you.” 

Not-Tobirama laughed, loud and harsh. “You dare to imagine that’s a possibility?” he cackled. “I have all the power of the Uzumaki, the Uchiha, and the Senju! What can you possibly do?!” 

Hashirama frowned a little, making that face of his that he often did. Madara groaned. He knew that face. It was the one where he realized he had rushed into a situation without making a plan, so eager and desperate to save people that he didn’t think his strategy through. 

This was going to be a bloodbath. 

He could see the shinobi with Not-Tobirama’s obedience seal starting to converge around them, drawing their weapons. People were going to die. The thought made him panic, and he looked over at Izuna, standing a little ways away, his katana once more in hand, red eyes spinning slowly. What if Izuna….

But what could he do to stop it? Not-Tobirama had bested him. Yes, he cheated. But still. 

He had so many under his control. There would be no way to avoid at least some deaths, on either side. He curled his fingers anxiously. Then, inspiration struck, and it filled him with disgust. 

“Tobirama,” he said, low and soft. The other Senju’s eyes looked back at him, just as he knew they would. “Let’s go.” For the first time ever, Not-Tobirama looked a little confused. 

“What.” 

“Let’s go,” he repeated, testing the strength of the obedience seal. It was fading, just a little. He was curious, Madara realized. “Take me home, and fuck me. Now.” 

Just as he hoped, and dreaded, Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, until his feet were on either side of his thighs. He grabbed his collar again, hauling him up to stand on his knees. His pupils were blown wide, with adrenaline, and now, lust. 

“I hope you all realize how much pain you just dodged,” he said slowly, to the shinobi all around them. “Next time, then. I have better things to do.” He bent down, attaching his lips to Madara’s, kissing him hard and leaving him gasping for breath. When he pulled back, his expression was dark. 

“You will beg for me,” he rumbled lowly, so only he, Hashirama, Izuna, and a few others could hear. Then, with the feeling of his body being too tightly held and his air forced out of his lungs, Not-Tobirama hiashined them away. 

They came out of the jump in Tobirama’s room, at his home. A hand fisted in his hair as soon as they stopped moving, yanking his head back painfully. A pair of lips immediately attached to his throat, biting and nipping insistently. 

“Take this off,” Not-Tobirama growled, tapping his armor. Madara closed his eyes, willing away the pit of dread in his stomach. ‘It wouldn’t last forever,’ he reminded himself. ‘It will end eventually. You just have to get through a few hours… Remember Izuna. And Hashirama. And the others. Just get through this.’ 

He reached up, undoing the clasps of his armor, shakily pulling it off and discarding it into a messy pile on the side. Not-Tobirama watched him, eyes dark as any predators. Madara was glad he hadn’t eaten for a while. If he had, he most certainly would have thrown up. 

“You ask for my forgiveness,” Not-Tobirama said, striding around him to stand at his back. His hands curled around his waist, and he pressed his chest against his back, nudging his hair aside and brushing his lips over the bite mark on his nape. 

“You always do this…. You test me and fight me and refuse me. And then you turn right around and ask me for forgiveness. It gets a little tiring, Madara.” 

Madara inhaled sharply when the mouth moved from the back to the side of his neck, biting down. “You want me to fuck you? Fine. But you’ll have to work for it, if you want me to leave your precious little village alone.” 

This was going to be so much worse than he thought. 

Not-Tobirama’s mouth moved to his ear, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I want you to please me. I want you to pleasure yourself. And I want to watch you fall apart in your shame and need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was already planning on letting Mads keep his eyes, but wow, the general consensus from all of you was to leave them too! Honestly, a little surprised!   
> I was going to have Tobirama figure it out this chapter, but then I thought, 'Nah, let's make him frustrated. Let's see some EMOTION'


	12. Ask and You Shall Receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama makes progress! (The normal one) 
> 
> Madara gets what he asked for. 
> 
> #Content warning, proceed with caution

~*~*~

“Four.” 

The hand lowered, then went back up. 

“Two.” 

Once more. 

“Three. I told you, they’re working. Why do we have to keep doing all these tests?” 

Tobirama made a note, ignoring the whine in Izuna’s voice. “Because we want to make sure it was an absolute success before doing more,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious? 

“I can see everything just as fine as before!” Izuna insisted, and Tobirama made a noncommittal hum. The Uchiha gave a pouty huff, looking away and crossing his arms. 

“Stay still,” Mito scolded, frowning at his neck and comparing her drawing to the seal on his neck. Izuna obediently stilled as the Uzumaki’s slender fingers traced one of the lines. She leaned back after a minute. 

“Tobirama,” she said, stepping past Izuna to hold out the paper she was looking at. “Your thoughts?” 

Taking the page, Tobirama cocked his head at the seal and the jutsu drawn onto it. Shiyana peered over his shoulder. “It looks stable,” she commented. 

“It does,” Tobirama agreed. “But it could backfire, badly.” 

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Izuna said, quietly, seriously. Tobirama glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What good are my eyes without my chakra, my Sharingan?”

“You have your sight,” Shiyana pointed out, and Izuna huffed. 

“My sight is worth nothing to me if I can’t use it to do something. Let’s just do it.” He glanced at Mito, nodding at her. The Uzumaki raised an eyebrow, first at him, then at Tobirama. 

“If he insists,” he said helplessly, shrugging. Mito sighed, grabbing her ink pens. 

“Izuna, this may hurt,” she warned, stepping behind him and holding his hair out of the way with one hand. He laughed dryly. 

“Believe me, nothing can hurt more than having your eyes yanked out,” he said, with false cheer. He was nervous. 

Mito started working, drawing a new seal on top of the one already there. The black ink turned fiery red as she worked, and Izuna’s hands curled tightly into the sheets. By the time she was done, and stepping back, his expression had twisted into one of pain, and the seal was bright and hot. 

Then he started screaming, loud and agonized, as the seal flared and expanded, lines crawling around and up and down his neck, spreading out over his body. “Hold him down!” Mito demanded as the Uchiha started to thrash on the small bed. Tobirama jumped forward, grabbing his shoulders and shoving them down, having to use all of his weight to keep them there. Shiyana and Hashirama each held down a leg, and Mito shoved a scarf into his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue. 

The seconds turned into long minutes, and finally, the seal began to dim, turning from red and back to black. Then, it faded slowly into his skin. Izuna’s screams ceased, leaving only the sound of their heavy breathing. 

Heat flooded his senses, raging and excited. He glanced down, just as Izuna opened his eyes. They were bright, Sharingan red. 

~*~*~

The sound of fabric tearing had him wincing. He was starting to run out of clothes that he actually liked. At this rate, he’d have none left by weeks end. Sharp teeth clamped down hard on his neck, hands shoving at his shoulders until his back was firmly pressed against the wall. 

Not-Tobirama made a sound low in his throat when he hissed in protest at the treatment, hands dropping down to clutch at his hips. “Something to say, little bird?” he growled, mouth moving higher to brush under his jaw. Automatically, he tilted his head back to allow him more access. 

“No.” 

“Didn’t think so.” One of his hands reached up, grabbing the torn edge of his mantle and tugging. The fabric tore some more, giving into the insistent tugging, falling away and pooling on the floor. Not-Tobirama moved to lick and bite at his chest. 

Closing his eyes, Madara let his head thunk back against the wall. Hands grabbed his wrists, yanking them up and pressing them to the wall over his head. Smooth vines replaced the rough hands, keeping them tied in place. Not-Tobirama licked down from his temple all the way to his nipple, taking it between his teeth and biting hard. 

He sucked in a harsh breath at that, and Not-Tobirama made a pleased sound. His hands lowered further, down to his thighs, pressing against them and pushing them apart. As much as he wanted to lift a leg and kick him as hard as he could, Madara let him. He dragged one hand down his left thigh, pulling it up to hook over his hip. Through his pants, Madara could feel the Senju’s stiffness. 

At least he was getting used to this. Keeping the others words in mind, he drew him closer, digging his heel into his back, and purposefully rocked his hips up, grinding into him. Not-Tobirama growled, his hand shooting down to his knee and squeezing. “Is that ‘pleasing’ to you, Senju?” Madara said lowly, leaning forward to press his lips against his bare chest. How and when the demon had shucked out of his clothes was beyond him. 

When Not-Tobirama didn’t push him away, Madara dared to get a little more bold, leaning a little further and grazing his teeth over an erect nipple. Inspired when the Senju stiffened, he took it between his lips, sucking hard. 

Not-Tobirama snarled, grabbing his hair and yanking him back, claiming Madara’s mouth in a rough kiss. His hands raked up his sides, settling on the sides of his face, both holding him still and pulling him closer. He nipped at Madara’s upper lip, and he parted them, letting the Senju slide his tongue in. 

Then he pulled back, suddenly, pushing Madara’s leg off his hip and stepping away. Just as Madara was about to bite out a snarky comment, a strip of cloth wound around his eyes, blinding him. 

Automatically, he froze, chakra flaring in response to his unease. “You agreed to please me,” Not-Tobirama’s voice rumbled in his ear. Madara jerked when his hands slid down his chest. “This pleases me….” 

The hands paused on his hips, tugging forward and twisting him around. Madara growled when he felt the wood of the wall against his chest, and a broad body plastered itself to his back, pressing him further into it. “As does this.” Fingers trailed down his lower back, over his ass, and then down to his thighs. A leg pushed between them, forcing them apart. 

“But you know what pleases me most?” Not-Tobirama continued.

Could he not just shut up? Sages sake. 

“It pleases me when you hurt.” 

The implications of his words hit him just a little too late. With a snarl, he started to turn, ready to give the Senju a verbal, if not partially physical, lashing. But then his legs were dragged a little further apart, and the Senju’s erection shoved into him. Dry, no prep, no nothing. 

Despite himself, Madara shrieked in pain, flinching away violently with a loud curse. Not-Tobirama kept him firmly in place, the vines holding his wrists above his head tightening, his heavy weight pressing him wholly against the wall. 

He pushed in further, giving an animalistic growl. Madara’s body screamed in protest, and he jerked and twitched under the Senju’s unforgiving hold, willing himself not to react, not to give in to the pain. This was just as bad as the first time the Senju fucked him, all those nights ago, with a horrified Izuna as audience. 

When Not-Tobirama was fully sheathed, finally, he brushed his lips over Madara’s neck, nosing at his ear and hair, almost affectionately. Then he shifted his hips, and Madara choked back a cry, feeling himself tearing further. “You’re so pretty when you're hurting,” Not-Tobiama crooned, pulling back and thrusting back in shallowly. Even if it was a small movement, it sent bright flares of pain coursing through him, and he turned his head to press his mouth against his bicep. 

“You try to hold yourself back so well,” Not-Tobirama continued. “You’re in so much pain, aren’t you? I can feel it. In your chakra, how you twitch and convulse around me. It feels divine.” His teeth brushed over the shell of his ear. “But you prefer it when we take our time a little, don’t you? You like it when I spread you out underneath me and finger you until you can’t deny the pleasure it gives you, don’t you?” He pulled out nearly all the way, then thrust hard and fast. Madara stifled a pained groan, but he heard it anyway. 

“You asked me to fuck you, remember?” He pulled back again. “You wanted this. So why don’t you use your voice now, mhm? If you’ve changed your mind, there’s always someone else I can take. Izuna looks like you. There’s another Uchiha who-”

Fucking fine. “Shut up!” Madara hissed, turning his head to glare back at him. “If you fucked as much as you talked we’d be done by now!” Not-Tobirama grinned darkly, raising an expectant eyebrow. “Hurry up, and fuck me already.” 

“That’s impolite. Did your mother not teach you how to ask for something nicely?” 

Oh, how he itched to wrap his fingers around that stupid neck and snap it. 

He sucked in a deep breath, curling his fingers. “Please,” he said, struggling to keep his voice soft and not harsh and angry. “Please, fuck me. I….I need it, please. You-”

He was cut off with a thrust hard enough to make him wail, thunking his forehead against the wall as pain ripped through him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it,” Not-Tobirama grunted, starting to fuck him in earnest. He tugged on one of his legs, lifting it up and opening him further. The new angle somehow hurt even more. “Keep asking me,” he growled, his voice low and raspy. “Keep begging me for more.” 

As much as he wanted it to stop, Madara yielded. “Harder,” he groaned, hating himself for the way his voice hitched and came out weak and breathless. “Fuck me harder, come on.” 

He was going to be so sore tomorrow, he thought distantly as the Senju pounded into him, his demands fading into low grunts. His hands dug sharply into his hips, and his teeth scrapped along every inch of skin it could reach. 

He whined loudly at a particularly deep thrust, and the Senju stayed there, grinding into him. “Please,” he groaned, pushing back. The sooner this was over….Not-Tobirama growled, moving one hand to curl his arm around his waist, pressing Madara back against him and rutting into him. 

One one hand, Madara was glad the Senju was holding him so tightly. He doubted his shaking leg would be able to support him. On the other hand, he hated having to rely on the Senju to keep him upright. 

The next thrust had him gasping loudly, twisting his wrists in his bonds. He had to consciously focus on keeping himself from arching away from Not-Tobirama’s touch. It took monumental effort. He didn’t bother to hold in his pained sounds anymore. Not-Tobirama seemed to thrive off them, thrusting harder, faster, biting more aggressively. 

Feeling sick to his stomach, disgusted with himself and with the Senju, Madara arched his back, pushing into his hips. He turned his head slightly to the side. If he wasn’t blindfolded, he would have been able to see the Senju. 

“Come on,” he growled, shifting a little. The movement brought a fresh flash of pain, but he managed not to react to it. Not-Tobirama grunted lowly; it was loud to him, as his mouth was right against his ear. 

His arms started to shake after a few more minutes, and he was breathing hard from the strain and stress. Not-Tobirama was near constantly growling behind him, fucking into him like an animal in heat. He was close; good. A little more, then. 

Purposefully, Madara rocked back, clenching down on his prick at the same time. Not-Tobirama’s teeth sank into his nape, hard, surely drawing blood. The Senju came with a thunderous snarl, his hips stuttering, then grinding into him through it. 

Madara gave a quiet sigh of relief when the Senju pulled out. He was aching all over, his muscles stiff. Not-Tobirama let go of his leg, letting it drop to the ground again, and Madara wobbled unsteadily, hardly able to keep himself up as Not-Tobirama stepped away. A hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him away from the wall and nudging him to turn around again. 

He did so, slowly. Not-Tobirama must have made some kind of hand movement, as the vines around his wrists released, and his arms fell heavily to his sides. The sudden rush of blood had his fingertips princkling uncomfortable. 

He let Not-Tobirama guide him forward, moving slowly, thinking about pushing the blindfold away so he could see. Something made him think the Senju wouldn’t like that at all, so he refrained. 

Not-Tobirama turned him again, pushing him back. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he allowed himself to be pushed down onto it. He felt the bed dip beside him; Not-Tobirama must have joined him on it. With firm, insistent movements, the white haired demon rearranged them, so that he was lying on his back with Madara sprawled over him. 

The other Tobirama had a hand on his head, just below the ties of his blindfold, stroking his hair. Madara stayed statue still, his cheek pressed against the Senju’s chest. He could hear his heart beating underneath him. He thought about how quickly he could rip out his heart. Not-Tobirama would probably be able to stop him, the fast bastard. 

“You know,” Not-Tobirama said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. “When I find out how to return to my world, I’ll keep the rip in the dimensions open. Then I can move back and forth whenever I want.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” Madara asked carefully. Sage, he wanted to rip this stupid blindfold off. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Not-Tobirama’s voice dripped with amusement. “I have my Konoha. And I’ll have this one, too. And of course, I finally managed to claim my prize.” He flicked his finger down Madara’s nose. “In my world, I fought you and killed you. I didn’t really mean to. I was originally going to keep you. A trophy. A war prize, perhaps. A demonstration to everyone of my power. To fell the great Uchiha Madara. But then he had to go and die. But now, here you are.” 

His fingers brushed over his cheeks, his lips. “You will be mine. Both here, and there.” 

“You have an awfully high opinion of yourself.” 

“What great legend doesn’t?” Not-Tobirama laughed, dryly. “How powerful an image do I present? I could not have you in my world, so I went and stole you from another. Does that not speak of my drive, my dedication?” 

“It was an accident.” 

“The future generations won’t know that. All they need to know is that I am the greatest shinobi to live.” 

“That’s propaganda.” 

Not-Tobirama’s hands tightened in his hair for a brief instant. “It’s liberation from lies and hope.” 

Madara pushed himself up with one hand on the Senju’s chest. “You’re insane,” he growled. Not-Tobirama tugged him back down firmly. 

“I’m a saviour,” he disagreed. 

What the hell was wrong with this guy? He was making no sense. “It doesn’t work that way.” 

“It does in my world. Obedience seals are a beautiful thing.” His hand brushed over the seal on Madara’s neck, hidden beneath his skin, and Madara stiffened at the subtle threat behind his words. 

He stayed quiet, and Not-Tobirama seemed to approve. His hand went back to his hair, toying with the ends, sometimes leaving to caress his fingers up along his spine and shoulder blades. 

All too soon, his touches became less innocent. They grew firmer, pinching and groping at him. His hands curled around his hips, pulling at him, rearranging him so he was straddling him. Madara grimaced when he felt his newly returned hardness against him. Sage, again? 

A hand pushed at his chest, urging him to sit up, then it returned to his hips, pushing him back, lifting him at the same time. Madara bit down a whimper when the Senju slid into him again, raw and sensitive and hurting. Not-Tobirama grunted lowly when he was fully sheathed, hands bruising around his hips. 

Madara groaned quietly when he moved his hips up into him shallowly, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut under his blindfold. He curled his fingers into Not-Tobirama’s chest, nails piercing the skin. Just as always, a vine curled around his wrists, tying them together. What was with this demon and always tying his hands? It got very annoying. 

“Get to work,” Not-Tobirama rumbled. Madara could feel his chest vibrate beneath his hands. He bowed his head, inhaling deeply. ‘It’s just like all the other times,’ he told himself to quell the surge of rising panic. ‘Only now you actually have to do something.’ 

The thought made him feel sick, but he wasn’t about to flinch back and creep away. He’d give as good as he got, dammit. 

He drew his legs in towards each other, squeezing Not-Tobirama’s hips. Pressing his hands down on the Senju’s chest to brace himself, he started moving, lifting up and dropping slowly. Just as he was expecting, it hurt like a bitch. His body protested, insisting it was too much, too soon. 

Screw that. He moved a little faster, rocking his hips up and down, trying to pretend the pain was pleasure. He heard Not-Tobirama grunt under him, his hands like vices around him. Giving him the illusion of control, Madara thought grimly, when in reality, this was all utterly out of his hands. 

He moved a little faster, shifting and rocking from side to side, changing it up with periods of grinding and riding. The Senju was heating up beneath him, sort of. He was still colder than Madara. But he naturally blazed like a furnace; everyone felt cold to him. 

Not-Tobirama sat up, hauling him closer, yanking him down and thrusting up into him. Madara choked, twitching and whining at the added contact. Lips pressed against the hollow of his throat, licking and kissing and nipping. Despite the vulnerability of the action, Madara tilted his head back, exposing more of his neck. Not-Tobirama took the invitation greedily, biting down harshly and sucking what would surely be a blooming big mark into his skin. 

Finally, the Senju’s patience snapped. Madara was shifted oddly, and then he was flat on his back, knees hooked over Not-Tobirama’s hips, bound hands trapped between their chests. Not-Tobirama kissed him firm and harsh, biting at his lip, sliding his tongue against his, and thrusting into him hard and fast. 

Madara whined, digging his nails into his chest. Not-Tobirama growled, and he couldn't tell if it was out of approval or not. “Ow,” he hissed when he bit down particularly hard on his lip, splitting it and causing a trail of blood to tribble down his chin. 

Madara could feel Not-Tobirama’s heated gaze on him, and a moment later his tongue was licking up his chin, over the blood. He took his lip between his, sucking on the bleeding wound like a vampire. He pushed at his chest, turning his head away. Not-Tobirama made a disagreeing sound. 

“Hurry up,” he breathed, playing up the breathlessness of his voice. “Please.” 

Just as he predicted, Not-Tobirama’s complaint faded into a passionate groan. Lips pressing against his shoulder, Not-Tobirama resumed, thrusting into him fast and deep. If he wasn’t in so much pain, Madara might have enjoyed it. 

As he moved faster, more frantic, chasing his end, Madara blindly reached out, grabbing the sides of his face as best he could with his tied wrists, dragging him down and kissing him within an inch of his life. At the same time, he clenched hard around him, rocking his hips up to meet his thrusts. 

It took a few more minutes yet of quick, messy thrusts and even messier kisses and touches for the Senju to finally come again, spilling inside of him with a deep snarl. 

Madara sighed as he pulled out, feeling blessedly empty. Sage, he hurt. Everywhere. Not-Tobirama kissed him once more, almost sweetly, and leaned away. Madara curled into himself a little, starting to reach for his blindfold, then hesitating. 

Not-Tobirama chuckled, and then the cloth was yanked off his head. A thumb brushed under one of his eyes, and he stared blankly at Not-Tobirama’s face. Contentedness was terrifying on him, he decided. 

“Are we finished?” Madara whispered, hating how cracked and broken his voice came out. Not-Tobirama considered for a few minutes. 

“You will stay the night with me,” he decided. Madara’s eyes widened. 

“What? No!” 

“You will,” Not-Tobirama said, his voice heavy as Madara started to move off the bed. The seal on his neck flared, and Madara froze. 

Bastard. 

Not-Tobirama pulled him back, running his fingers under his chin and tilting his face up. “Stay here,” he commanded, standing up and striding out the room, presumably to clean up. Madara sat exactly there, fuming and furious. 

He came back only a few minutes later, dressed in black clothes, per usual. He brushed Madara’s hair back, and smiled. “Go clean up. You have five minutes.” He nudged Madara’s shoulder, waving a hand and retracting the vine coiled around his wrists. With a stormy scowl, Madara rolled off the bed, making to retrieve his clothes, ruined as they were. 

“Leave those,” Not-Tobirama said, black and red eyes glinting. “You won’t need them. Time is ticking, Uchiha.”

Casting one more hateful glare at him, Madara stalked off to the bathroom. He tried not to look at himself in the mirror, hopping in the shower to rinse off. But it was inevitable. In the midst of trying vainly to towel dry his hair after his 1 minute shower, Madara finally looked up, meeting his own eyes. 

He looked terrible. The shadows under his eyes had never seemed bigger. His lip was split and bruised, and marks ran down his entire torso. He looked like he had fought something mean and nasty and lost. Which, in essence, he had. 

The seal pinged hard on his neck. Time was up. Twisting his lips into a scowl, Madara tied the towel around his hips, stomping back to the room, scowl still in place to show his displeasure. Not-Tobirama was lying back on the bed when he came back, arms folded behind his head, looking very smug and pleased with himself. The sheets were pulled back, covering him up to the waist. 

The covers on the other side were pulled to the side. “Come join me,” Not-Tobirama drawled, patting the bed beside him. Madara stood stock still for a moment. The seal itched meaningfully. His scowl deepened as he finally stalked towards the bed, gingerly sitting and ignoring the rush of discomfort and sharpness that came with the movement. 

Not-Tobirama reached out, unknotting his towel and tossing it aside. Then he looped an arm around Madara’s waist, hauling him down and toward him. 

Madara stiffened as the Senju arranged him the way he wanted, until his chest was against his back once more. He tugged the sheets up, then draped a heavy arm over Madara’s waist, burying his nose in his damp hair. 

“Relax,” he muttered, nudging some hair aside to brush his lips against his nape. 

“Would you?” Madara snapped back. The Senju at his back laughed. 

“Of course not. No sane shinobi would. Which makes it all the more sweeter for you to.” 

“Shove it up your ass!” Madara snapped. He immediately regretted his words when Not-Tobirama laughed again. 

“I’d rather shove it up yours,” he drawled. “Interesting choice of words.” Madara growled quietly, and Not-Tobirama started rubbing small circles into his chest and belly. “You sure you won’t relax?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Alright, then.” He moved his hand up, pressing two fingers between his eyes. “Sleep.” He felt a surge of chakra, and then his mind clouded. 

~*~*~  
Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~*~

For all his fighting words and actions, Madara passed out in seconds. He looked nicer when he wasn’t awake. Softer. Less angry all the time. 

His face now looked a lot like how it did when he was dead, sprawled out on the ground in front of him, thick hair clumped with dirt and blood, his fair face streaked and bruised. But relaxed, and soft, with death. 

Tobirama ran his fingers over his eyelids. Only a thin layer of skin separated his searching fingers and the Uchiha’s greatest power. Madara was sound asleep, lulled away by a surge of cleverly channeled chakra. It’d be so easy to pluck his eyes out now, blind him forever. 

When Madara had held that knife, when he agreed to take out his eyes for the sake of keeping the villagers safe, he had been excited. Was he really that foolish, that willing? To surrender his eyes? He was almost disappointed that he hadn’t seen it. 

He was also disappointed that he hadn’t actually gotten to fight Hashirama. He had been so ready, so eager. But then Madara had called out to him, all soft and appealing. The look in his eyes, so dark and shining, when he asked him to fuck him. 

The mere memory sent heat rushing through him, and he wrapped his arm possessively tight around his Uchiha. He bemoaned his missed opportunity to face down the Hokage of this world. But he had gotten something so much better. 

Madara was beautiful, in pain and not. His efforts not to give in to cry out were addicting. The sounds he couldn’t hold back even more so. The way he had looked above him, blindfolded, and teeth worrying his lip like a dog would a bone. 

He was perfect. And after all this time, he was his. He ran his open mouth over Madara’s shoulder. He was tempted to wake him up and go for another round. But no, he’d wait. He’d play at Madara’s sanity and control for a while longer. He’d pull more strings, use more seals, until the Uchiha was always willing and ready to kneel for him. He’d sacrifice himself for his village before Tobirama would even have to make a threat. 

It was then, when Madara had given himself wholly to Tobirama, then he would break him. The thought had him smiling, in anticipation. He’d let Madara think that he was sated, for now. He’d let him think he was safe at times. Then he’d wreck him, drive him half mad. The anxiety the Uchiha was already feeling was steadily growing. 

He’d be so pretty when he was done. So docile and obedient and yielding. His power, warm and hot and oh, so appealing, would be his afterward. 

He’d be the ultimate prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that Alt.Tobirama's a little nuts? :D
> 
> Why is there so little bottom Madara out there, what the heck :/


	13. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science baby.  
> Madara realizes his clan doesn't hate him.  
> Not-Tobirama marks his territory .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter's probably a little boring.

~*~*

Tobirama glanced up, watching another Uchina skip out of the lab with a broad grin on her face, her newly restored Sharingan’s swirling merrily. That marked Uchiha number 68. 

He turned away from the mess of papers scattered in front of him, watching Hashirama wipe his brow, but greet the next Uchiha with a grin. Izuna was with him, frowning at a few jars of eyes before finding the right ones. 

For the past two days, they had been restoring the eyes of the Uchiha clan. Izuna was in charge of bringing them in, discreetly bringing them from whichever Senju they served and bringing them down. After their sight was restored, they would be blindfolded again to hide the restoration of their vision. 

While most people resented the Tobirama of this world, there were some, Senju particularly, who strongly supported him. And while he doubted any action would be taken to stop them, Tobirama didn’t want to take the risk. Fortunately, the Uchiha who regained their eyes had been very agreeable. 

Across the table from him, Shiyana and Mito were drawing up yet another new seal. A pile of discarded, failed ones tilted precariously on the edge of the table. Unthinking, he reached out and straightened it. 

As he did, he happened to notice something that hadn’t caught his eye before. With a curious hum, he slid the paper out of the middle of the pile, straightening its crumpled edges and smoothing out the folds and wrinkles. 

Mito’s neat handwriting filled the margins around the seal design drawn in the center. It was beautiful, complicated; wide and branching and splitting and curling around and into itself. He leaned down a little, squinting at the tiny letters. 

It was nothing he didn’t already know. He even remembered most of it, having read over it once before already. 

Theories of time, space, interdimensional travel, warps in the universe, gateways to alternate dimension, and so forth. He stared at the seal a little longer. It’s purpose was to split a theoretical particle barrier. In theory, dimensions were separated by time, space, and matter. This seal was intended to open a hole in the matter barrier, forcing particles apart until there was an area of space utterly void of anything; particles, atoms, everything. It was an incredibly powerful seal, but it had unfortunately failed. It drew too much power and energy, warping the makeup of particles in the wrong way, expelling its energy and power in an uncontrollable manner. 

He stared at the seal for a little while longer. If it could work...if it COULD tear through the barrier of matter…. But it needed something to balance the energy backlash. 

Spinning his chair, he shuffled through the papers until he found another tested and discarded seal. A time one. He set both seals next to each other, chin in his hand and eyebrows scrunched together in thought. For the energy expulsion of the matter seal to safely dissipate, it had to be given a median to travel through. 

Perhaps….

He glanced back at the time seal, scanning over the notes documenting its failed test. Ah, just as he remembered. A problem without a fix. But maybe it could be convinced otherwise. 

IF he could channel the excess energy from the matter seal into the time one, then the matter could power the time. And if the time seal worked, he should be able to manipulate the transition between dimensions. 

Which left only space. It was all well and good to have matter and time. But space...Reaching through an indefinite distance, theoretical or physical, was not an easy thing. His hirashin had been hard enough to think of, throwing his body into a vortex of atoms. This was different. 

Was there matter in space? In the space between dimensions? Were there separate dimensions on the physical plane? Or was one universe’s physicalness completely alienated from others? Most importantly, if he could manage to breach the barrier of matter of this dimension, and possibly his own dimension, how could he guide himself across the unknown distance between the two dimensions and go to the right one? 

What if the time seal went wrong and he ended up back in his dimension, but a hundred years in the future or the past? Many people theorized that time was an indefinite straight line. Never really beginning, and never ending. If he missed his mark by even a little bit, who knows where he’d end up in the timeline? 

Or, if his dimension was further away than he realized, what if he ended up in a different one? There could be dozens, if not hundreds, of alternate universes, each with their own rules of science and physics and chemistry. What works here in this dimension might not work in another's. What he did here might not work in his own dimension. He might successfully leave this dimension, but be unable to return to his own. 

If that happened, he’d be stuck in a void. An interdimensional space, with no time, no matter. And then he’d have to figure out how to adjust to cross the barrier and return to his world. Which would be very hard, as there would be nothing for him to work with. 

But….his hiashin was based on space manipulation. The markers he left controlled his movements. The particles that made up his body were drawn to them, and that’s how he wasn’t lost to nothing; he didn’t simply just fade away into the particles all around. 

His markers….

The chemical makeup of most things in these different dimensions would differ just slightly. 

Which meant that his and this other Tobirama, while similar enough to use each other's markers, were still different, on a subatomic level. 

Which further meant that he should be able to access his markers in his own dimension if he was able to isolate that exact difference and magnify it. 

He stood up suddenly, grabbing another paper and writing furiously. 

“I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears,” Shiyana said. Tobirama ignored her, too focussed on writing down his thoughts, drawing up everything he knew about his hirashin. If it was connected utterly to him, how would he isolate the miniscule differences and purify it? 

This would go further than subatomic. This was some quantum level work. And quantum physics utterly disregarded the normal rules of physics. He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Well, that was easy enough to solve though. He just had to make a jutsu to allow him to view the quantum field. 

A quantum field in a single atom. One of the trillions in a single cell. Of which his body had an uncountable amount. He glanced down at his finger. In a single square inch of skin, there were nearly 3.9 billion cells. And skin cells were far more spread out than the cells in muscles and nerves. 

Let’s put it another way. One human's DNA stretched out into a single thread could reach the moon and back to earth 1500 times. Or to the sun and back 4 times. What he wanted to do was isolate a single, itty bitty portion of it, magnify it atomically, then subatomically, and then quantumly. 

Holy sage, he had his work cut out for him. 

He glanced back at the time and matter seals. If he could get those two to work together, and then create another jutsu based on his hirashin to reach his markers back in his world in conjunction….. If the matter seal worked on both this dimension and his, and if the time seal sent him in this moment of time in his own world… 

He looked up, seeing Mito and Shiyana watching him with matching expressions of bemusement. “I think I know what to do,” he said, with a slowly growing grin. 

~*~*~

It was still dark when he silently wiggled out from under the sheets, pulling his torn clothes back on. Not-Tobirama didn’t move, eyes closed and body utterly relaxed. He was awake, obviously. Madara doubted he even slept. 

“Leave the armor,” Not-Tobirama drawled when he bent to grab it. “You won’t be needing it ever again.” Sending a venomous look back at him, Madara stalked out the room, down the stairs, and out of the house, storming down the streets back to the Uchiha district. 

Of all the nerve! He pursed his lips when he remembered just how vulnerable he had been. Even if he hadn’t done it willingly, sleeping next to an enemy, with your back turned to them. His scowl darkened, thinking back to the odd rush of chakra that had flooded through him when the Senju touched him, how it had immediately blocked his conscious thought and dragged him down in a dreamless sleep. 

Oh, how he hated that man. The idea of ripping out his innards and setting them on fire was growing more and more appealing. 

How unfortunate that he’d never be able to make due on that dream. 

With that depressing thought in mind, he sloughed back to his clans district. Lost in thought as he was, he very nearly face planted after tripping over something lying in the middle of the street. 

“What the hell?” he growled, spinning around. The movement brought a rush of pain up his spine, but he was far too cranky to pay it any mind. Whatever he had stumbled over groaned, sitting up and raising their hands to rub at bleary eyes. 

Madara stared in surprise as a young woman brushed her black hair out of her dark eyes, blinking around in bewilderment before her gaze landed on him, staring at her like she was some kind of strange alien. 

“Madara!” she gasped, scrambling out of the blanket she had wrapped herself in and staggering to her feet. Much to his surprise, she surged forwards and flung her arms around him. 

“Um…” He stayed stock still, brain short-circuiting. Sure, he was on much better terms with his clan now. But for one of them to actually touch him, much less hug him? So fearlessly and desperately? This was...weird. 

She pulled back after a minute, but her hands stayed fisted in his collar. “We’ve been waiting for you all night!” she said, looking up at him with an...indescribable expression. 

“We?” he echoed, his mind still not really comprehending what was going on. 

The other Uchiha nodded, finally stepping back and waving a hand. He recognized her, he realized distantly. Madara followed the direction she indicated to, blinking in surprise. A dozen or more other Uchiha were out on the streets, wrapped in blankets. A few were starting to stir, roused by the woman’s shout. 

He squinted at her for a moment, trying to put a name to the face. Oh, right. Shiriya. A young woman, with a three year old daughter named Anema. Her husband's name eluded him. 

“Madara-sama!” another Uchiha exclaimed, nearly falling over in his haste to untangle himself from his blankets and stand up. His shout fully woke the other Uchiha hanging around. As Madara’s bewilderment skyrocketed, more members of his clan, roused by the growing commotion, started peering out of their homes, curious. 

When they saw what was going on, they hurried out onto the streets. A few hands pressed against him, and he resisted the urge to leap away and demand answers. As if sensing his growing confusion, a middle aged woman, her black hair streaking just a little with silver, took his hands in hers, holding them up before her chest. 

“We thank you, Madara,” she said seriously. He stared down at her. Thank….him? For what? 

“For what?” he asked, voicing his thoughts. A hand squeezed his shoulder, and he glanced back at Hikaku. The other man smiled, a little sadly. 

“For your sacrifice,” the woman said, prompting to look back at her. She raised one hand, briefly pressing it against his cheek. “For your devotion to your people, your village.” 

It took him a moment to understand. “Oh,” he said, when it finally clicked. “Um…” 

“You do not have to say anything,” Hikaku said. His hand wrapped around his bicep, gently tugging him from the crowd. Madara felt a flash of gratitude to his cousin, as distant as it might be. Shiriya took his other arm, nudging aside a few other members of the clan. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, quietly. Madara winced a little.

“Yes,” he replied. Shiriya gave him an unconvinced look. Thinking back a little more, he remembered that they were related too. He really had to keep better track of these kinds of things. He distantly remembered some experiences with her when they were kids. 

“Should we call for Hashirama now?” Hikaku asked. “He wanted to be informed when you got back.” 

“No,” he said, automatically. Hikaku frowned, glancing at Shiriya. “I’m serious,” Madara insisted. He didn’t want to see the Senju right now. He was absolutely not ready to deal with his overly emotional best friend. “I’ll see him later,” he added, just to appease them. 

Hikaku hummed quietly, and Madara lifted one hand to brush his hair away from the back of his neck. 

“You’re sealed too, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. Hikaku gave him a slightly despairing look, and nodded. 

“If it weren’t for you, I could be dead. Or I could have killed someone I love. Any of us could have.” 

“How many in the clan have it?” he pressed. Shiriya looked sad. 

“Nearly all of us.” 

Madara exhaled shakily. By now, his relatives had successfully untangled him from the crowd of Uchiha and hauled him inside his own home. He slowly went over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a groan. 

“How has it come to this?” he said quietly. Hikaku sat opposite of him. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I should have killed him as soon as he got here.” 

“Maybe,” Shiriya said with a shrug. She was in the kitchen, heating some water. “But we still want the normal Tobirama back, don’t we?” 

“He may not even be alive at this point,” Madara said grimly. The thought didn’t sit well at all. “It’s been nearly three weeks since that jutsu backfired. If he hasn’t found his way back by now, then he probably never will. The man is a genius, he never takes this long to figure something out.” 

“If he managed to survive the dimension swap,” Hikaku said thoughtfully. Shiriya hummed, bringing out three cups of tea. She handed one to Madara, and he took it automatically. Green. His favorite. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled. 

“You’ve always liked green tea,” she said. Madara felt a brief stab of guilt. He hadn’t really kept up with his cousins after the death of his brothers. He really should have held his family, distant though it may be, closer. 

They sat in silence for a long while. The quiet was finally broken by Hikaku. “You have no idea how grateful your clan is,” he said, and Madara raised an eyebrow curiously. “And so many others. I just wish you didn’t have to go through...that.” 

“You and me both,” Madara said dismissively, eager not to talk about...it. “Shiriya, you should go home. See your daughter.” The woman sighed softly. 

“Probably. But, Madara, you-”

“It’s fine, Shiriya. Go. You too, Hikaku.” 

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Shiriya said immediately. Madara frowned at her. “You’re not in a good place,” she added. 

“I’m fine. Being alone is what I want most right now.” 

“But it’s not what you need,” Hikaku argued back. He held up a hand when Madara started to protest. “You may be clan head, but I am a clan member. It’s your responsibility to hear out the worries of your clan.” 

“I heard your worry.” 

“And do something about it.” 

“You can always leave.” 

“Madara!” Hikaku’s chakra flared violently, far stronger than Madara had felt it before. “You are one of the last direct members of my family!” the other man said, almost angrily. “I’ve been neglecting my duties to my family, but no more. We may only be cousins, but we grew up together, fought together. I’m not about to let you spiral. Not again. I will rectify my previous wrongs.” 

“Me too,” Shiriya said. “We are family. We look out for each other.” 

“A while ago neither of you would dare to speak to me like that,” Madara said blandly. 

“A while ago we never realized your dedication and love to your people and Konoha,” Shiriya said quietly. “We were blind to it. But not anymore. We will stand by you, and support you through this.” 

Madara stared at her, and then at Hikaku, unsure of what to say. He was very much taken off guard by their declaration. They had feared him, once. They served him only out of fear. But now, it was like they had utterly forgotten all about it. 

“Since when has family suddenly become so important to you?” 

Hikaku met his gaze. “Since it only ever fought for us.” 

~*~*~

Eventually, Madara caved to the demands of his cousins, and dragged himself to Hashirama. He dodged everyone he could see. The walk out of his clan district had been a headache. Everyone wanted to stop him, speak to him, thank him for his ‘sacrifice’ and vowing to support him. 

Sacrifice. Bah. Sacrifices were made voluntarily. He didn’t exactly have a choice. Not anymore. 

Hashirama was in his office, but he wasn’t working. He was fidgeting in his seat, fretting over everything he could touch. Vines and flowers were growing out of the walls and floor, responding to his anxiety. 

When Madara came in, the flowers bloomed with even more vigor. “Madara,” he cried, leaping to his feet. He was up and in his space before Madara could voice a protest. He bit his tongue when Hashirama pressed a glowing hand against his chest. He was far too tired to argue. 

With the relief of his aches fading, Madara sighed softly, relaxing under his friend's touch. “Thanks,” he said quietly. Hashirama didn’t smile, but he did look up to meet his gaze. 

“I shouldn’t have to do this,” he said, almost bitterly. Madara stared at him. 

“What?” 

“I shouldn’t have to heal you so much! This shouldn’t be happening!” 

Madara narrowed his eyes, and he stepped away. “Would you rather piss off that demon?” he snapped. “Should I just let him have his way with Konoha? Should I let our village, our people, be subjugated under this madman?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hashirama said, shaking his head. 

“Then what did you mean?” Madara hissed, irritated. “As long as I hold his attention, the village is...somewhat safe. Somewhat.” 

“That’s what I mean!” Hashirama said, raking his fingers through his hair with a frustrated expression. “Why does it have to be you? Why is he so obsessed with you? Why does he want to see you, specifically you, hurting? What does he get out of it?” 

Madara sighed, feeling his irritation fade. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. Hashirama frowned, his hand glowing again and pressing against his chest once more, sending more healing chakra through him. 

“Can’t we stop him?” 

“He has seals on almost everyone in my clan,” Madara said helplessly. “And probably more on others in Konoha. If we confront him, he could order them all to...do something. To themselves or others. And you and I...we simply won’t be able to stop everyone. Not the mention…” He waved vaguely, in the general direction of his neck. He wasn’t keen on triggering another reaction from the seal on his neck. 

Hashirama’s eyes darkened, and he pinched his nose in irritation. “So, we can do nothing?” he asked, frustrated. Madara shook his head. 

“I don’t think so. And, Hashirama...” He paused, glancing out the window. “Be careful. He took your power in his world. He can manipulate you just as easily as he can me. Maybe even more, actually. He could force you to hand over your position, and he can take your power.” 

“He’d make this Konoha just like his,” Hashirama summarized, and Madara nodded. “Only you're alive in this one.” 

“This isn’t living,” Madara said quietly. “It’s just existing.” 

“Maybe we should just kill him and be done with it,” Hashirama grumbled. 

“You know just as well as I that it won't work. If we were going to kill him, we should have done it the moment he arrived. If we try now, I have no doubts he’ll take most of Konoha with him, in the off chance we manage to succeed. We can’t take that risk.” 

“I hate it when you’re right,” Hashirama grumbled, pulling away to sit heavily at his desk. 

“I’m always right.” He folded himself down on the chair on the other side of the desk, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping his chin on. 

“What can we do?” Hashirama asked despairingly. 

“Hope he doesn’t lose interest in me anytime soon. And maybe, just maybe, our Tobirama will find his way home.” 

“Our options aren’t looking good,” Hashirama commented. 

“No, they’re not.” 

They fell into silence for a while. “There’s a clan head meeting this afternoon,” Hashirama said after a spell. “You’re coming?” 

Was that today? Madara groaned quietly. Sitting in on a boring meeting sounded like the last thing he wanted to do. But it was boring. It was normal. “I’ll be there,” he promised. 

Hashirama smiled. “Want to get some inarizushi?” 

Madara considered. “Sure.” 

~*~*~  
*Perspective of Kenara Yamanaka*  
~*~*~

Clan head meetings were always long and boring, and this one was no different. It didn’t help that no one could focus. One didn’t have to be a mind reader to know why. Everyone knew what had happened yesterday.

On the other side of the round table, sitting stiffly beside Hashirama, Madara Uchiha stared blankly at the man currently talking, not bothering to mask the fact that he wasn’t paying attention. In his defense, neither was she. She watched the Uchiha conspicuously. Her clan had always been partial to mind-related techniques. As clan head, her powers were even greater. 

Mind reading was difficult, but it got easier when the subject being read was emotionally distressed. Madara was about as unhappy as one could be, his thoughts and emotions churning like waves of a turmoiling sea. A lesser person than she might have drowned in them. 

She had previously had little opinion on the man. Her knowledge of him was what everyone knew. He was clan head of the Uchiha, an immensely powerful shinobi, and co-founder of Konoha. He had a temperament like a fire, quick and violent. She also knew he was protective, and fiercely loyal to his own. 

Her impartial opinion of him had changed after the last clan meeting. Seeing the powerful shinobi curl into himself in pain, unable to withstand the effects of the seal inked into the back of his neck, had been an eye opener. 

She had touched him, feeding her chakra into his mind, learning off of what was within. She was horrified by what she saw. Madara was no child, but he was young enough that she could have birthed him. After seeing what the alternate version of Tobirama had put him through, she couldn't help but feel a little...protective, perhaps, of him. He hadn’t asked for any of this. But he was giving so much, suffering so greatly, for the sake of his people and the village. That strength earned her respect. 

Of course, she hadn’t made it known that she knew what had happened. Her mental techniques were the strongest in her clan. And with his mind in such tangled shambles, it had been easy to learn what happened. 

Poor child. 

She bordely turned her gaze back to the man talking. A Sarutobi, she realized. She had no idea what he was currently talking about, her mind on other things. 

As she had grown partial to watching Madara out of the corner of her eye, Kenara noticed it when he went still, sitting up even straighter, dark eyes widening. Only an instant later, the door was flung open, and all the clan heads looked up. 

Tall and white haired and smirking coyly, the other Tobirama Senju strolled into the room, black and red eyes settling briefly on all the clan heads before settling on one. Kenara could feel the surge of anxiety radiating off Madara like a fire, thanks to her clan's powers. 

The other Tobirama paused beside Madara, lifting a hand and stroking down his hair. The Uchiha stayed very still, hands curling into fists on the table, gaze fixed on the opposite wall. “Enjoying the meeting?” the Senju asked, conversationally. 

Kenara glanced at Hashirama, who was glaring at other Tobirama with a murderous expression. She had never seen such a look on him before. It was disconcerting. 

“Boring, I assume,” other Tobirama continued. “I remember the trifle issues the clan heads of my world would bring to me. So insignificant… Selfish, really, for them to waste my time like that.” He moved a little, so that his hands were on Madara’s shoulders, squeezing. “You’ll need a way to release all that pent off energy I can feel building up,” he drawled, leaning down to speak in Madara’s ear. But he still spoke loud enough for all of them to hear. “You will come to me again, and I will fuck you tonight. Understood?” 

Kenara felt Madara’s fury, his anxiety, his fear. His eye twitched. 

“Understood?” other Tobirama growled, impatient with Madara’s lack of response. 

“Yes,” the Uchiha said finally. Other Tobirama rumbled lowly, looking around at the other clan heads with a slowly growing smirk. 

“Do they know, Ma-da-ra?” he half sang, pinching a strand of his hair between his fingers and coiling it. 

“I don’t think anyone doesn’t,” Madara bit back. He had an impressive facade. She was the only one who could feel just how panicked Madara was. 

“Oh? I’m not sure I believe you…Should we make it clear to them?” 

Madara’s eyes widened for only a split second. Then, other Tobirama was yanking him to his feet, spinning him around to face him and shoving him back onto the table. Madara’s hands scrambled on the table's polished surface, searching for purchase, until he finally managed to brace himself up on his hands, half sitting. 

Other Tobirama stood between his knees, one hand on the table next to his hip, and the other stroking his cheek. The clan heads all went deathly still. There was confusion radiating off them, but also fear, anxiety. Hashirama was angry, but also wary. 

Other Tobirama leaned back a little, eyeing them all, and then drawing a kunai. “Stay still,” he ordered. His words fell heavy, and Kenara tilted her head. She could just barely see the back of Madara’s neck from where she sat, and she watched the black lines of the seal crawl over his skin as it activated. 

Madara froze, his eyes widening as Not-Tobirama lifted the knife to his face. Kenara gasped, watching him raise it higher. But then, he slid past Madara’s eye, and slid the blade into Madara’s skin just below his temple, dragging it down and slicing a thin mark into him. The blade continued over his cheekbone, curling in a little under his eye. 

Then, Not-Tobirama pulled back, and cut an identical mark into the other side of his face. Blood trickled down Madara’s face, and Not-Tobirama leaned it, lazily licking the blood away until the flow ebbed. 

“You will not heal him,” he said, pulling back just a little to glare at Hashirama. “If you dare, I have many more people who would be willing to cut out their own hearts.” 

Kenara felt a wave of fury radiating off the Hokage, but the other Senju didn’t move. Not-Tobirama turned back to Madara. “We match,” he said brightly. “Sort of.” He caressed one of the cuts, and stepped away with a grin. 

“I’ll see you tonight. 9. Don’t be late.” 

With that, he hirashined away, and was gone. Kenara stared at Madara, watching him like a hawk. The dark haired man slowly pushed himself off the table, gloved hand reaching up to touch one of the cuts. Hashirama started to reach for him, hand glowing with chakra, but Madara shook his head, holding up a hand to stop him. 

“You heard him,” he said tiredly. “You know his threat isn’t an empty one.” Hashirama’s frown deepened, but he lowered his hand. 

Kenara stood abruptly, and left the room, feeling the eyes of the other clan heads on her back. She ignored them, heading down the hall and to one of the well-supplied offices. She grabbed a pre-made kit, and marched back to the meeting room. 

She plunked the kit onto the table next to Madara, poking at him insistantly until his chair hit the back of his knees and he sat, dark eyes wide. “What are you-”

“Quiet,” she said, not unkindly. She opened the kit, taking out a few alcohol pads. “This will string,” she warned, ripping one open. Before he could protest, she swiped the cut on his right side. “Human saliva has a lot of bacteria,” she muttered, cleaning the cut carefully. “We don’t want them to get infected, if he won’t let Hashirama heal you.” 

Madara stared at her, and she could feel his confusion as she finished and moved onto the other side. 

“Why are you...doing this?” he asked slowly, carefully. Kenara paused, and took a quick look at the other clan heads, watching quietly, before gazing down at him. 

“Because right now, you’re the only thing keeping our village safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I love physics and biology??? I read this over so many times. I hope it makes sense. It does to me, but...
> 
> I thought it'd be interesting to have an 'outsiders' perpesctive on the situation. And I've always liked the Yamanaka clan. Hence, why I put Kenara's POV in here.   
> *Ya'll know Reno from final fantasy? Those marks, cuz they're pretty*


	14. Test Trial 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama makes progress. 
> 
> Madara's still unhappy
> 
> Alt.Tobirama is scheming, a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to write. I just couldn't think of how to continue. So, enjoy this half-assed piece. 
> 
> Also, I just adopted a cat, and the shelter people warned me that she loves pet, but she is an absolute attention hog. Everytime I sit down to write, she hops up and demands my hands. How can I say no?

~*~*~

“Alright, we’re ready,” Izuna said, Sharingan swirling slowly as he strode back to join Mito, Shiyana, and a few other Nara. Tobirama nodded, glancing down once more at the hand sequence for the jutsu, even though he had already memorized it. Two revised seals were inked onto his palms, ready for activation. 

The small red apple serving as the test subject sat quietly and innocently. Tobirama glanced down once more at the jutsu sequence. 

Well. It was now or never. 

Funneling his chakra into his hands, he set his right hand on the apple. The seal on his palm flared, sending rays of turquoise light through the room. The black lines of the seal flowed from his skin and onto the apple. He did the same with the seal on his left hand, watching the lines of the separate seals intertwine and weave together. 

Then he stepped back, his hands coming together for a complicated series of hand signs. He immediately felt a strong tug on his chakra. It drained from him at an alarming rate. The seals on the apple glowed, first red, and then blue, lighting up the entire room. 

Out of nowhere, an unsourced wind started to rage, funneling around the apple like a tornado. Flares of energy crackled off the funnel like lightning, branching and volatile. 

His chakra drained even further, frighteningly so. Then, like some opening into a demonic world, the air behind the apple blackened. A ring of purple sparks started falling out of thin air, and with a loud rush of wind, a portal opened behind the apple. Strands of black and purple energy reached out, surrounding the apple, wrapping around it, drawing it into the void. 

With one last, bright flash, the apple vanished. 

Tobirama leaned back, and grinned. 

Portal test, one: success. 

Now, he just had to figure out how to extract enough of his quantum essence to reach one of his markers himself. 

~*~*~

He was furious, and humiliated. 

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Madara ran his finger tips over the marks carved into his skin. They were scabbing, crusted and ugly and a little painful when he made any kind of facial expression. 

With a sigh, he turned away. They itched terribly, and he lifted one hand to absentmindedly scratch at one, taking care not to rip off the fresh scabs. He methodically set about dressing, brushing his wet hair from his eyes. 

When he came out of his room, Not-Tobirama was waiting for him downstairs, snooping in one of his sparsely occupied bookshelves. He didn’t say a word, as much as he wanted to, but instead plodded to the kitchen, setting some water to boil and hunting down his favorite mug. 

Not-Tobirama moved away finally, leaning against the counter with a smug smirk etched over his face, arms crossed. He watched Madara as he prowled around the kitchen, his gaze eerily intense. 

Madara bit his tongue, resisting the urge to snap at him. He was cranky and irritable today, and he absolutely did not want to deal with the white haired demon right now. So if he could kindly fuck off and leave him to broad, that’d be very much appreciated. 

“Are you aware you’re not exactly hiding your facial expressions?” Not-Tobirama asked after a while. “You shouldn’t do that. It ruins your pretty face.” Madara paused, finally turning to glare at him. 

“Are you aware that I don’t particularly care?” 

Not-Tobirama pushed off the counter, striding towards him. He pulled the now-filled mug from Madara’s hands, setting it on the counter a few feet away, then leaned in, hands gripping the counter on either side of him, pushing him against the counter and frowning down at him. 

“Are you aware that you don’t get to choose what you do or don’t care about?” He leaned in further, his breath ghosting over his cheek. “You don’t get to decide anything anymore, Madara. I own you. Did you forget?” He lifted one hand, brushing his thumb over the cut on his right cheek. “You are mine, little Uchiha. I decide for you. I decide how you look, how you act, what you do. I own you, wholly and completely. And you’d be wise to remember that.” 

“Why do you keep doing this?” Madara asked finally, despairingly. Not-Tobirama grinned, sharply. “Why do you insist on...this? What do you gain from it?” 

“Everything,” Not-Tobirama drawled. “I have you, for all your pride and power and temper, yielding to me.” 

“Do you think I would have given in if you hadn’t used the seals to manipulate me?” Madara hissed. Not-Tobirama’s hand dropped to his chin, squeezing it tightly. 

“You will watch your tongue around me, Madara,” he demanded. “A pet does not address his master like that.” 

“EXCUSE ME?!” 

With a flare of fire, Madara shoved Not-Tobirama away, positively seething. “I am not your PET!” he roared, leaping forward and driving his fist in Not-Tobirama’s face. The demon reeled back, then caught himself, and grinned, despite the blood trickling down his chin from his split lip. 

“Ah, you still have some fight in you,” he said gleefully. “Good.” 

“You’re sick,” Madara hissed, stomping toward him. His hair was steaming violently, forcefully dried from the fire coating his body. “Is this all some game to you? Messing with people’s minds and lives?” 

“I am the player, and you are all just pieces on the board,” Not-Tobirama replied, ducking under Madara’s next swing and giving one back, right into Madara’s ribs. Then, while he was still in that spot, he wrapped his arms around his waist, bending his knees and lifting Madara over his shoulder. 

Madara screeched, twisting around and grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking hard, and at the same time managing to bring his leg up and knee the Senju in the face. Not-Tobirama growled, low and dark, and in punishment, slapped him on the ass. 

“Stop it,” he growled, as Madara squawked and jerked. He deposited Madara on the dining table, grabbing his wrists and holding them captive in his hands. His nose was bleeding from where Madara had connected his kneecap to it. “You’re such a stubborn brat,” the Senju continued to growl.

With a familiar tingle, the seal on his neck activated, and the fire over his limbs flickered out. Madara hated when he used the seal without actually talking. It always threw him for a loop when his body did something out of the blue and unexpected. 

Not-Tobirama leaned down a little further, shoving his nose under Madara’s jaw, lips pressing against his neck. Madara froze instantly, heart rate automatically quickening. Not-Tobirama chuckled. 

“Good Uchiha,” he purred. “Learning so quickly. You’re easy to train.” 

His words had all of Madara’s anger and indignation flaring right back up. “You know what? Screw you, you bastard!” Setting a foot on the Senju’s chest, he kicked him back, hopping off the table and grabbing his abandoned tea. “Go find someone else to bother,” he growled, storming past him and back up to his room. 

Not-Tobirama laughed behind him, dark and chilling. “Are you sure you want that, Madara? Would you prefer if I played with someone other than you? Perhaps Izuna isn’t busy. Or one of your darling cousins.” 

Madara stopped midstep, closing his eyes. Not-Tobirama prowled up behind him. Madara could practically hear the smirk he was sure was etched on the Senju’s face. “Don’t,” he said finally, staring down at the steam rising in wisps from his tea. Not-Tobirama hummed, looping his arms around him from behind and setting his chin on his shoulder. 

“Are you jealous, little pet? Would you rather be the center of masters attention?” 

“Better me than anyone else.” 

Not-Tobirama snickered. “So you do want all of my attention! Needy little pet. So selfish… That’s not a desirable trait to have.” 

Madara hesitated. “So, you don’t want me to want you?” he questioned. Oh, how he hated saying things like that. But the more he stroked the demon's ego, the less risk to himself and anyone else. Not-Tobirama purred. 

“Oh, no. I want you to crave me, to need me more than air. I want you to be incapable of making a decision without me. I want you to fully and utterly rely on me for everything.” 

“That’s a little…” He trailed off, biting back what he wanted to say. Not-Tobirama chuckled, low and dark, nuzzling into his neck. 

“I want to be in your mind every minute of every day,” he continued. He started pressing soft, open mouthed kisses along his neck, and automatically, he tilted his head to give him more access. His kiss turned a little harder, more insistent, less innocent. 

His mug was plucked from his hands again, set carelessly aside. He closed his eyes as the hands gripped tighter, and the kisses turned into nibbles and bites. “Do we have to do this now?” he complained. “I’m supposed to be at the office soon…” 

“In a few days, you won’t have to go to the office at all,” Not-Tobirama replied. That had Madara’s eyes opening again, and he started to turn. The hands squeezed, keeping him where he was. 

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully, leaning back into his touch, hoping to tempt him to reply. 

“You won’t be leaving my side soon,” Not-Tobirama drawled. “You’ll come with me everywhere I go, pliant and ready for me whenever I see fit to have you.” 

“I have responsibilities here. I can’t just shuck them off.” 

“But you will. I demand it. You already know you can’t say no.” Not-Tobirama shoved at him a little, guiding him forward, then turning and pushing him down onto the couch. He immediately made himself comfortable between his legs, undoing the belt securing Madara’s mantle. “You really should stop wearing these,” he commented, tossing the belt aside and working the fabric up. “They cover far too much of you.” 

“Would you rather I walk around half naked?” Madara bit back, lips curling in disgust. Not-Tobirama’s fingers paused. 

“Yes,” he said finally. “I’d show you off, my prize. I’d let others see you, want you, lust after you. And when I can’t contain my anger and my jealousy, when I feel fury at others looking at what is mine, I’ll take you away and ravish you. You’ll bear the marks of my ownership for the rest of your life.” He traced the cuts over Madara’s cheeks. “And I’ll give you new ones for as long as you live, both permanent and not.”

“You’re a psychopath,” Madara grumbled, wiggling a little to let his mantle come away. He wasn’t fond of having to throw out yet another one. 

“Naturally,” Not-Tobirama agreed, working on shedding the rest of his clothes, until Madara was bare underneath him. His hands curled around his wrists again, holding them down to the cushions. His mouth he dragged down his neck, his chest, lips latching onto a nipple and sucking. 

One of his hands grabbed Madara’s, lifting it and pressing it against his own mouth. “If you don’t want it to hurt so much this time, I suggest you hurry up,” he said lowly, pulling back just enough to smirk up at him. Madara stared at him for a moment, and then realized what he meant. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth, sliding two of his own fingers in and sucking on them, coating them with saliva. Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened at the sight. 

Shifting uncomfortably, Madara worked up a little more spit, ensuring his fingers were good and wet, and drew them out. He hesitated agan, and Not-Tobirama grinned. 

“Don’t be shy, pretty bird,” he crooned. “Every part of you belongs to me, remember? Think of it this way. By pleasuring yourself, you pleasure me. And you exist to pleasure me. So…” He took his wrist, guiding his hand around. “Do your job, pretty bird.” 

Madara frowned up at him. Seeing as he didn’t really seem to have much of a choice… Cheeks burning with shame, he repositioned himself a little, knees falling open a little more, slouching back further. He slowly reached back. His hand was shaking, but he tried not to let that bother him. 

When he found his destination, he hesitated once more, peeking a tiny glance at Not-Tobirama. The demon was staring back at him, looking enraptured. Sage, he really had to do this, didn’t he? 

With a shaky sigh, Madara circled his entrance with his index finger, closing his eyes and biting his lip before slowly inserting it. It felt...better than he thought it would. Curiously, he slid it in a little further, giving it a tiny twist and bend as he did. 

The flash of actual...pleasure...it brought him had him biting down a moan. A little more confident now, he dared to bring it in deeper, crooking it to the sides. The sensation that followed had him whimpering audibly. He could feel Not-Tobirama’s eyes on him, and he strove to ignore him, slowly working in another finger. 

He shuddered at the feeling, biting down so hard on his lip he could taste the tiny bit of blood resulting. Not-Tobirama was getting impatient, he was sure. He started to spread his fingers, working on stretching himself as much as he could in the limited time he had. 

He wasn’t fast enough. A hand wrapped around his wrist, drawing his fingers out. Madara winced, not opening his eyes even when he felt a hot mouth on his hand, licking his fingers. He still didn’t look when his hand was lowered, brought down to be pressed firmly on the couch beside his head. An all too familiar piece of anatomy pressed against his entrance, pushing past the still too tight muscles. 

He groaned quietly, eyebrows pinching together as pain started to replace the pleasure. “Perfect,” Not-Tobirama rasped in his ear. “Still so unprepared, even though I gave you time. You know how to please me by now, don’t you, little Uchiha?” 

“I hate you,” he whispered, finally opening his eyes. Not-Tobirama smiled down at him. 

“I’m aware.” 

Madara closed his eyes again with a whimper when the Senju started to move, thrusting into him with little care, holding his wrists down next to his head. Madara let out a quiet sound every now and then. It could be worse. It usually hurt a lot more. Was he, perhaps, getting used to the treatment? 

On one hand, he hoped so. That meant he wouldn’t feel so much pain every time they did this. Eventually, maybe he’d be unaffected in the end. But on the other hand, the fact that he was getting used to it meant that he went through it, and would likely continue to go through it too. 

That was not an appealing thought. 

He cracked open one eye, watching the Senju above him. He was moving a little slower, a little gentler, than usual. But he could see in the way his jaw was clenching and his eyes were narrowing that he wouldn’t be for long. 

True to his prediction, it wasn’t too much later that the Senju started moving harder, faster, thrusting into him with his usual enthusiasm. His fingers drove deep into the bruises permanently etched into his hips. 

Slowly, he lifted one leg, looping it around the Senju’s hip, flexing hard and urging him to move even faster, harder. He worked his hands free; to his surprise, Not-Tobirama let him. Fisting his fingers in his hair, he pulled him down for a hard kiss, bracing his feet and rocking back up into his thrusts. 

Not-Tobirama growled in approval, nipping his lip and sliding his tongue into his mouth, enthusiastically licking into him. Madara shuddered when he started thrusting a little harder, letting out a quiet moan that was swallowed by Not-Tobirama’s mouth. 

Not-Tobirama shifted a little, bracing himself a little firmer, and rocked into him even harder, losing his pretenses, chasing after his end. Madara clenched around him, pulling him along faster. 

He came with a snarl, hips stuttering and teeth sinking into his bruised neck. Madara grunted quietly when he pulled out and away, wincing at the feeling of the Senju’s essence leaking out of him. 

He started to sit up, resigning himself to another shower. It wasn’t even before lunch yet. 

A hand against his chest pressed him solidly back down. He stared up Not-Tobirama, raising an eyebrow. “You haven’t finished,” he said, looking pointedly at Madara’s limp length. Madara curled his lip. 

“In case you missed it, it kinda only gets up when you’re feeling good,” he growled, shoving at him. Not-Tobirama didn’t budge. 

“What kind of partner am I if I can’t please my partner?” he wondered outloud. “What kind of master if I cannot satisfy my pet?” 

“I am NOT your pet, you insufferable-” He cut himself up with a yelp when Not-Tobirama slid down his body, taking his length in hand and curling his fingers around it. “Let go,” Madara growled, squeezing his knees together. Not-Tobirama kept them firmly apart. 

“Stop talking,” he shot back, squeezing and curling. Madara hissed, blindly swatting at him. Not-Tobirama cursed softly, grabbing his wrists and pinning them down with one hand. “Enough!” he ordered, glaring at Madara. Madara glared right back. 

“Shove off, Senju,” he spat, kicking him in the stomach. Not-Tobirama sneered, his hand not loosening. 

“Brat,” he growled. Then, before Madara could snarl out another word, he leaned down, and took Madara in his mouth. Madara half screeched, half choked, sounding much like a dying cat. 

When Not-Tobirama glanced up, a wicked look in his eyes, Madara kicked and bucked, trying to dislodge him before his lower regions could...gain interest. “Get off,” he spat. Not-Tobirama smirked, just a little, and purposefully licked along the underside of him. 

Madara cursed and bucked, frantically wriggling and writhing underneath him, trying to force the larger man off. Not-Tobirama had none of it, keeping his hands down with one hand and his hips down with the other. 

Despite his fury and his disgust, Madara could feel himself slowly hardening. Furious with himself, he kicked a little harder. Annoyance flashed in Not-Tobirama’s dark eyes. With a slight surge of chakra, vines grew out of the floor, curling around his ankles and knees, keeping them in place. More vines replaced Not-Tobirama’s hand around his wrists, and both of his hands curled firmly around his hips, keeping him from squirming away. 

“Bastard,” Madara hissed, twisting frantically. Not-Tobirama chuckled, and the sensation felt terribly odd, but…

No, nope. It didn’t feel nice. Not in the slightest. 

Repeat the lie and it eventually becomes truth. 

His hisses and curses soon quieted, replaced by an occasional moan or whimper that he fought to keep down. Not-Tobirama wasn’t at all fooled, if the glint in his dark eyes was any indication. 

The final straw came when Not-Tobirama grazed his teeth along his length, then sucked down hard. With a strangled moan, Madara came, spilling down his throat. He effortlessly took it, licking his lips as he pulled off. 

“Very good,” he praised, as if he were simply commenting on some simple jutsu. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

“Fuck you,” Madara groaned, looking away. Shame and humiliation came crashing down, and he tugged at his bonds. 

“Oh, Uchiha,” Not-Tobirama said with fake compassion. “When will you learn to just give into me? I own all of you. Your mind, your body, your pleasure…. You can admit you liked it.” 

“Fuck you!” Madara repeated, with more velmence. 

Not-Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really want me to train you to enjoy yourself? It’d be so much easier for us both if you just gave into my wishes and learned to enjoy them, learn to crave them.” 

Madara stubbornly looked away, and Not-Tobirama laughed. “No? Well, that matters not. I’ll enjoy seeing you give into that as well. You’ve given me your willingness. And soon, you’ll give me your pleasure, too.” 

He grabbed Madara’s chin, turning his head and kissing him, tongue sliding past his lips to make him taste himself. “One day you’ll be screaming for me,” he purred, drawing back. “You won’t be able to get enough of me.” 

Madara didn’t reply, just glared up at him as he pulled away. The vines released his wrists and ankles, and he stood, snatching up his clothes and storming to the bathroom to shower. Again. 

FucKINg SEnjU. 

As he raged through the kitchen, something out of the ordinary caught his eye. 

A small red apple sat on the counter, close to where the normal Tobirama had left his hiraishin mark, which Not-Tobirama now used often. Odd. He never bought apples. Maybe Not-Tobirama had brought it with him this morning. Weird, but whatever.

“Have a good meeting,” Not-Tobirama called cheerfully after him, striding towards the front door. “If you can still make it on time, that is. Oh look, you’re half an hour late already. That’s too bad.” Madara’s only reply was the bathroom door slamming shut. Despite the sound of the water running, he heard the Senju’s laugh echoing back to him. 

Staring at the new marks bitten into his skin, Madara finally yielded to the sickness he had felt since seeing the Senju, and violently threw up. 

Needless to say, he didn’t end up going to the Tower at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, oh, ohhh
> 
> HERE WE GO


	15. Fruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama makes progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long. Again

~*~*~

The next test object was a grapefruit. It was roughly twice the size of the little apple he had previously sent. As such, it had drained nearly twice the amount of his chakra, leaving him feeling sluggish and tired for a few hours after. 

But it worked!

It worked, and he was one step closer to finding his way home. The only problem was getting the portal big enough, and being able to concentrate his quantum essence into a large and strong enough beacon to hone into his markers. 

That itself shouldn’t be too much of a problem…. But the portal, on the other hand. The grapefruit had hardly fit through it. It took enormous amounts of energy to power. If he were to try to send anything larger, it’d have to be fueled from an outside source. 

And while he knew for a fact that his….friends, here would be willing to help, he didn’t want to take the risk of draining all their chakra. Too much taken could kill them. It was a highly probable side effect, actually. 

Sitting down at his desk, Tobirama tapped his fingers on the surface, thinking. On the other side of the lab, Izuna, Shiyana, and Hashirama were doing another eye transplant. Almost 50% of the Uchiha had been given their eyes back, and with it, they were starting to reexplore their chakra. 

As he watched, Izuna snapped his fingers, lighting his hand on fire, and holding it low to give Hashirama and Shiyana some more light. The flames licked at and danced around his fingers, warm and red, soothing, yet powerful in their own way….

Tobirama grinned to himself. 

Heat was a form of energy. 

Energy could be converted, transferred. 

How had he not thought of that before? 

There were dozens of Uchiha with powerful chakra reserves, who could summon enormous amounts of fire. Heat. Energy. 

He had found himself a power source. 

Now, he just had to figure out how to make it work. 

~*~*~

He presented his idea to Mito, Shiyana, and Izuna when they were done with their surgery. Hashirama went and passed out right after they were done, barely managing to drag himself to the little bed. He was asleep almost the instant his face hit the pillow. 

“It’ll work,” Shiyana said thoughtfully. “But we’d have to move elsewhere. To make the portal big enough for a person to walk through, we’ll need a lot of energy. Lots of fire.” 

“We’d burn this place to ash,” Izuna agreed. “We can go to the Uchiha district. There was a training hall designed specifically for training and practising with our fire before all of...this. It’s a perfect place! And plus, there will be more Uchiha there that we can restore their eyes too. They won’t have to come here anymore for it.” 

“And it’d be easier to keep everything under the wraps,” Mito agreed. 

“Then it’s settled,” Tobirama said, nodding. “Izuna, can you find us some talented Uchiha? We’ll start testing as soon as we can.” 

“On it,” the Uchiha agreed, with a lazy smile and a wink. “I’ll send Hikaku over to guide you to the training hall.” 

“I’ll help you move everything,” Shiyana offered, as Izuna trotted up the stairs and disappeared. 

“I’m staying with Hashirama,” Mito said, with a slightly regretful smile. Tobirama couldn’t fault her as she went to sit at her husband's bedside, taking one of his limp hands in hers, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. 

“Right,” he said, turning. “Let’s get to it, then.” 

~*~~*

It took almost two days to secretly move everything from the lab to the Uchiha training hall. The eyes were the hardest things to move. Tobirama ended up moving most of them himself, placing a marker in the training hall and hirashining back and forth. It had been exhausting. 

Hashirama used those two days to rest and recuperate, and he was back to his cheerful, beaming self in no time, eager to continue the surgeries. Tobirama started experimenting as soon as he could. 

At first, he had only Izuna and Hikaku help him. Starting off with small amounts would be best while learning how to proceed. It took a frustratingly long amount of time until he was able to devise a jutsu to convert the fire and the heat it produced into raw, manipulatable energy. It took even longer to figure out how to use that raw energy to power the portals. 

As the creator and caster, the portal drew on Tobirama’s chakra reserves. In order to use the energy to fuel the portal, Tobirama had to convert the fire to energy, run it through himself, and direct it out along with his chakra, all at the same time. 

He unfortunately couldn’t just harvest the energy and store it somewhere. It was too volatile, too aggressive. It wouldn’t stay in its form long before it dissipated, usually violently. It was frustrating, but unavoidable. 

It took a few days, but he finally was able to make it work without causing a mini explosion or burning something. With Izuna and Hikaku’s power behind him, he was able to grow the portal nearly twice the size as before. 

At first, he had been elated. Then he shoved another test object, a watermelon, through the portal. It had burned to a crisp before it could go all the way through. 

“The energy must be too hot, too violent,” he mused, as he watched the pile of ash building up before where the portal had just been. “We have to figure out how to cool it a little, make it less aggressive.” 

“What if we find some water nature types?” Shiyana suggested, making a note. “Perhaps they can cancel out the heat, and together they can balance the energy out to a useable level?” 

Tobirama shook his head. “No, I thought of that already. Water isn’t as easy to convert into energy. We’d have to harvest its kinetic energy rather than its composition energy, which is a whole other level of difficulty. Plus, water and fire are far too opposite. They’d cancel each other entirely in large amounts. Or, they’d clash far too aggressively.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Lightning style users could help,” he said eventually. “But we’d run into the exact same problem as fire style.. And wind and earth wouldn’t work as well either. Earth would have to be kinetic, and energy from wind is harder to harness than fire.” 

“So, we just have to tone down the heat a bit, right?” Izuna asked, frowning at his fingers. 

“Not of the fire,” Tobirama said. “Just the energy it produces.” He stood up, starting to pace. He was a water style user, but it was just him, so he wouldn’t cancel out the heat alone. But since he had a water based nature, and since he was exceptionally good at it, maybe….

“Let’s try it again,” he ordered, turning back to the two Uchiha’s. “I’m going to see if I can cool it as it goes through me. It could stabilize the portal and make it less volatile. Mito?” 

The Uzumaki nodded, picking up a melon and holding it ready. He glanced back at Izuna and Hikaku, and the two of them started to go through a series of identical hand signs. At the same time, Tobirama funneled chakra into the seals on his palms, slapped them into the melon, and went through his newer jutsu. Fire raged out of Izuna and Hikaku’s hands as he finished, and he held up his hands. 

The red and orange of the flames flared, then turned blue and purple as they hit him, forcefully converted from fire and into energy, being sucked into his hands. 

The uncomfortable heat that followed it made Tobirama feel like he was burning. Summoning up his own chakra, cool and icy and familiar, he willed his chakra to latch onto the hot energy, suppressing it, forcibly cooling it. It wasn’t easy; it was almost painful, really. 

With a scowl, Tobirama went through his portal jutsu. The seal marks on the melon flared blue, and with a familiar chilling sensation, the portal opened behind it, whirling and lashing out strands of purple lightning. His chakra tugged, but with it, the portal took the energy from Izuna and Hikaku. 

Almost reluctantly, the portal grew, and expanded. 

But this time, something was different. 

Instead of the black void that he had seen before, now there was light. He could see the dark grey of a counter top, and dark wood cabinets. There were a few candles sitting on a bookshelf on the opposite wall. The scene looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Tobirama craned his neck, looking into the room as much as he could. To his left, he could see two pieces of fruit. An apple and a grapefruit. The ones he had sent through before. 

With a surge of excitement, Tobirama pushed the melon through the portal. It smoked and burned as it went through, blackening in several patches. But it didn’t burn to ash this time. 

The portal hissed for a few more moments. Then, with a rush of wind, it fizzled out of existence once more. 

~*~*~

The next day, a grapefruit had joined the apple. Bemused, Madara had placed it next to the apple against one of the cupboards. He wasn’t particularly fond of grapefruits or apples. 

And now, this morning, he came down to find a melon sitting on his counter. It looked like it had been tossed through a fire, blackened and burned in several areas. 

More than just a little confused, Madara placed the melon, and the grapefruit and the apple, in a little basket he found forgotten in a closet. He wouldn’t eat them, but they could be used as decoration at least. 

He suspected Not-Tobirama was leaving them here. They were probably laced with some sort of poison or drug or something. Hence, he would not eat them. But he also didn’t want to throw them away. He doubted Not-Tobirama would be very pleased with him if he did. 

With a sigh, Madara left his home, slowly making his way to the Hokage Tower. Not-Tobirama had been in a chillingly good mood lately, and it put him on edge. The demon Senju was planning something. He must be. Madara had a good suspicion of what. 

As was becoming his custom, he stopped by Hashirama’s office, feeling that familiar wave of relief when he saw the Senju sitting at his desk, alive and well, his vast chakra still curling lazily inside of him. 

But how much longer would his power remain his? In his world, Not-Tobirama had taken Hashirama’s power. Why hadn’t he done so in this world yet? What exactly was he waiting for?

“Hey, Madara,” Hashirama greeted. His voice was not nearly as cheerful anymore, and it made Madara winced as he sat down. 

“Hey, Hashi,” he said in turn. The Senju’s dark eyes flicked to his cheeks, and Madara resisted the urge to reach up and touch the marks. The scabs had come off, leaving very obvious pink scars over his cheekbones. “Doing alright?” 

Hashirama shrugged. “Yeah. You?” Madara nodded. “Has he-”

“Hashirama,” he broke in. “Let’s not talk...about that.” Hashirama pursed his lips. But as always, he respected his wish. 

Madara stayed for a few more minutes before heading back to his own office and getting to work. 

As the time crawled by, Madara got more and more restless, glancing up at the clock every few minutes. Then, just as the hand turned to 11, he felt that familiar wave of icy chakra suddenly arrive, and his office door swung open. 

Resisting the urge to sigh, Madara pushed his papers away, set aside his pen, and gave Not-Tobirama an expectant look as he closed and locked the door. “Hey, Madara,” Not-Tobirama drawled, not wasting anytime and striding around the desk. Madara stood when he tugged demandingly at his collar, obediently sitting on his lap when the Senju claimed his place on his chair. 

“So, enjoying your day?” he asked, dark eyes tracing down his jaw and neck. Madara winced when he licked his lips. 

“It’s as it usually is,” he said evasively. Not-Tobirama hummed, reaching up to grab a handful of hair, guiding his head down. Madara grunted, but yielded, as he always did. He let Not-Tobirama kiss him, and kissed back, slowly and hesitantly. Not-Tobirama’s hands lowered, grabbing Madara’s, and guiding them up to rest on his shoulders. 

It might have been gentle, soft. A tender moment between two lovers. But the possessive way that Not-Tobirama curled his hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, firmly, said otherwise. 

Not-Tobirama’s hand worked under his shirt. He had stopped wearing his favoured mantles a little while ago. Far too many had been ripped beyond repair. As much as he wanted to pull away and hiss and punch, he stayed dutifully still, letting the rough hand massage over his chest, tweaking his nipples none too gently. 

Not-Tobirama started to kiss a little harder, rougher, more insistently. Madara let out a quiet sound when Not-Tobirama took his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on it. The Senju purred quietly, caressing his chest a little harder. 

Madara inhaled sharply when his hand left his chest, and instead worked under his waistband. With a protesting sound, Madara grabbed his wrist, pulling it back out. “Wait,” he said, digging his nails in. Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened angrily. 

“No.” 

He yanked at his waistband again, dragging it down. Madara bit his lip, and held his tongue. Not-Tobirama rearranged him a little, working his clothes out of the way, nudging his legs apart. “Be a dear and give me a hand, would you?” he said, voice low and husky. Madara frowned, but moved his hands to his belt, working it off with now practised movements. 

Not-Tobirama leaned back, watching him with amused, dark eyes. Madara steadfastly ignored him, reluctantly wrapping his fingers around his dick, stroking slow and firm. 

A hand brushed over the new scar on his right cheek, and still he didn’t look up. But he could feel the demons eyes, dark and heavy on him. “So good,” he drawled, hands running over his spine. 

“Shut up,” Madara hissed. Not-Tobirama leaned in, lips brushing against his neck. 

“What was that?” he asked, in a low, dangerous tone. Madara stiffened. 

“....nothing.” 

“That’s what I thought.” His hands curled around his hips, and he stood swiftly, depositing him on the desk, legs splayed wide. He braced himself up on his elbows, tilting his head back when Not-Tobirama started sucking at his neck. “When I’m done with you, go home,” he said lowly. “You’ll wait there for me, quietly. Understood?” 

His hand dropped lower again, trailing up his thigh. With a sigh, Madara closed his eyes, and resigned himself to the next hour. And whatever would come after. 

~*~*~

When he got home, there were almost a dozen new fruits on his counter. He stopped when he entered the kitchen, and frowned. 

Okay, so maybe Not-Tobirama wasn’t the one leaving them here. After all, he had been bothering him for the past hour or so. The ache radiating up his spine attested to that. 

A few of the fruits had burned and blackened spots on them. Bemused, he moved them away and into the basket, arranging them to look somewhat nice. For some reason, they felt oddly...familiar. Kinda chilled. But not like...temperature wise. 

Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Madara stiffly set about making himself some tea. As he stared at the water boiling, he felt a surge of chakra. It was hot, just as his was, but carried an undercurrent of familiar coolness….

He whirled about in surprise, just as the space in front of the kitchen window darkened. Sparks of purple fell out of thin air, and an unsourced wind blazed through the kitchen. Then, the dark circle parted, revealing an image beyond it. 

He stared, transfixed. Through the ring of purple and black, he stared at the very startled face of one Tobirama Senju. 

The normal one. 

Tobirama stared back, his expression one of comical surprise. “Tobirama?” he half squeaked, surprised. Tobirama’s eyes dropped to his lips, and then back. He lifted a hand to his ear, and shrugged. ‘Oh, he can’t hear me.’ 

Wait, what? How could he even see him? 

He gestured at Tobirama, then at himself, and the ring of black and purple energy sparking, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Tobirama squinted at him with a frown, then brightened. He started gesturing back, which looked very strange on the usually cool and composed Senju. 

Madara stared at him, and raised his hands, shrugging. His attempts made no sense to him. Tobirama seemed to realize, and he stopped, pursing his lips. He glanced away, at someone out of view. His lips moved; speaking to someone. Another person joined him. 

Izuna. But not...his Izuna. 

This Izuna stared at him with eyes wide, astounded. He stepped closer to the strange, portal, hole….thing. His lips moved, and he had seen that movement many times. ‘Madara’. 

“Hey, Izuna,” he said with a tiny smile. Even if Izuna couldn’t hear him, he’d know what he said. If he was right, and he was staring at Tobirama, somehow, in whatever world or dimension or universe he was in, then this Izuna was the one who had lost his brother 4 years ago. He looked older than his Izuna. His hair was shorter, and he had more scars. 

‘Madara,’ Izuna mouthed again. He started to reach forward, and Madara automatically did the same. He was closer to the warp; he reached it first. 

The moment his fingers touched the wavering air of the portal, pain flashed up his arm, and he drew back with a startled hiss, staring down at his hand. It was...burned. He’s never burnt before. He glanced up at Tobirama and Izuna, mystified. 

Then he glanced back at the basket of fruit on his counter, taking in the charred and burnt fruits. Curious, he picked up a burnt orange, holding it up and raising an eyebrow. Tobirama glanced at it, then met his gaze, and nodded. He shrugged, made a circling motion with his hands, possibly to indicate the portal, and then mimicked an explosion with his hands. 

Madara frowned, then nodded slowly. The portal was….explosive? Maybe he meant unstable. It certainly hurt to try and put any flesh through. He glanced back at Izuna, who continued to stare at him with this strangely heartbroken expression. 

Tobirama snapped his fingers, drawing his attention again. He pointed at his left cheek, and then at his right. Unthinkingly, Madara reached up to his own face, tracing the scars on his face. He winced, and made a helpless gesture. Izuna’s expression had changed to one of horror. 

Tobirama started to make another few gestures, but Madara had stopped paying attention. A wave of familiar, ice cold chakra washed over him. 

Not-Tobirama always liked to hirashin outside of his house. He liked making Madara nervous and worried by announcing his presence a minute or so before walking in. 

Sage. He was here. And so was his Tobirama. And a portal. Oh, crap crap. 

He looked over at the door, where he could sense Not-Tobirama coming closer. Glancing back at Tobirama and Izuna, he made a few gestures, trying to signal them to close the portal. It evidently wasn’t safe to step through yet. 

Tobirama frowned, either not understanding or not agreeing. 

Damn it, Senju! 

Unthinkingly, his chakra flared, and fire burst over him. He grabbed the basket of fruit, shoving it in front of the portal. It didn’t hide it all the way. And there was no way Not-Tobirama would miss this. 

Crap. Well, only one way to go about it. The best way to distract that demon Senju was by doing what he did best. 

Being a horrible flaming ball of rage. 

With one last look back at Tobirama and Izuna, who stared back at him, looking surprised and confused, he stormed out the house, throwing the door open just as Not-Tobirama was coming up the steps. Not-Tobirama paused when he stomped out the door, wreathed in flame. 

“Someone a little cranky today, Madara?” he drawled, his icy chakra spiking. Madara let his flare in response. 

“You have no idea,” he growled. Flames burning even brighter, he lunged at the Senju, who grinned back, crazed and demonic, spears of ice forming in his hands. 

Sage. This was gonna hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara's in for a world of hurt


	16. Darling, How you Bleed for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Maddy.

~*~*~

Tobirama stared with utter confusion, and excitement. On the other side of the portal, Madara stared back, his dark eyes wide. Madara’s lips moved, but he heard nothing. 

He lifted a hand to his ear, and shrugged, hoping to convey that he had no idea what Madara might be trying to say. Madara frowned back for just a moment, then nodded, seeming to understand. He pointed at Tobirama, then at himself, and made a little circle with his hand. Then he raised one thin eyebrow, questioning and expectant. 

Tobirama narrowed his eyes at him, trying to decipher what he was saying. Was he asking about the portal? That seemed to be the most likely option. But how to explain…. He gestured at himself, then waved his hand a little to try and emulate energy, flowing in and out of him, then expanding out into a portal. 

Madara stopped him by raising both hands and shrugging. Oh. He had no idea what Tobirama was trying to say. Just as he was rethinking how to explain, Izuna moved a little closer, poking his head around the corner and frowning at him “Tobirama,” he said. “What on earth are you doing?” 

Tobirama glanced over at him, and smiled just a little, a brilliant idea crossing his mind. “Izuna, come here!” he ordered, stepping slightly to the side. Izuna frowned at him, and hesitantly came closer. His dark eyes turned to the portal, and he froze, doing his best to imitate a statue. 

Madara’s eyes immediately shifted to him. Izuna stepped closer to the portal, an unusual expression on his face. “Madara,” he whispered. 

Unexpectedly, Madara smiled. Just a little. His lips moved a bit. “Madara,” Izuna whispered again. He reached toward the portal. Madara did the same. The elder Uchiha’s fingers breached the portal, and he flinched back, eyes widening. Tobirama glanced down at his hand; it was smoking, burned from the portal's volatile energy. 

Madara looked back up at them, looking confused. Then he glanced off to the side. He leaned away for a moment, and when he fully returned, he was holding an orange, burned and slightly charred. One of the ones he had sent through. Madara raised his eyebrow again. He met Madara’s eyes, and nodded, hoping to convey that he had sent it. 

At Madara’s questioning stare, he shrugged, moving his hands in what he hoped would signify the portal, and then mimicked an explosion. Madara frowned, but then he nodded. His dark eyes turned back to Izuna, and Tobirama followed his gaze. 

Izuna was staring at Madara like he had seen a ghost, looking so oddly desperate and sad. He looked back, and then noticed something. There was something different about Madara...Ah. There were scars on his face, arching down from his temples, sweeping over his cheeks, and curling under his eyes. They were elegant, and almost beautiful, standing out sharply against his fair skin. 

Tobirama snapped his fingers, waving his hand just a little to catch Madara’s attention. When his dark eyes landed on him again, he pointed at his own cheeks. Madara reached up, tracing the scars on his face. Then he winced, and shrugged just a little. 

Tobirama frowned. Where on earth did he get those? And why hadn’t Hashirama healed them? He started to make a few more questioning gestures, then realized Madara was no longer paying attention. 

He was looking off to the side, his dark eyes widening. When he looked back, Tobirama was surprised at the expression on his face. He looked...well...terrified. Panic and fear competed for dominance, and he made a few frantic hand signs. 

Tobirama frowned. What? What was he trying to say? He started to signal his confusion, but Madara looked away again. His body burst into flame, and a moment later, he was shoving a basket of fruit in front of the portal. A poor attempt at hiding it, he realized. 

A look of desperation crossed Madara’s face, and he looked away again. The flames over his body flared brighter, and his expression changed, from one of fear, to one of resolve. With one last look at them, Madara turned and stormed away, all raging flames and probably, burning chakra. 

Then he was gone. 

“Madara!” Izuna screeched, surging towards the portal. Tobirama grabbed him, and yanked him back. 

“Wait, Izuna!” he barked, forcibly spinning Izuna and shoving him away. “The portal’s not stable, we can’t pass through it yet!” 

“But Madara-”

“Madara is fine!” Tobirama exclaimed. “Didn’t you see?” 

“No, no he’s not!” Izuna wailed. “Didn’t you see his face? His marks?” 

“What about them?” he demanded, frowning. With a hiss, the portal sizzled out of existence. Izuna finally stopped struggling to reach it. 

“Tobirama...the one from here…” His voice dropped lower. “Those marks….He carved those same marks into my brother when he killed him.” 

Tobirama paused, and frowned at him. “So, what does that mean for my Madara?” he asked carefully. Izuna’s dark eyes turned even darker, and he looked away. 

“It means the Tobirama from this world already owns him.”

~*~~*  
Alt.Tobirama’s perspective*  
~*~*~

Well, this was certainly an unexpected surprise. Madara had been so good, so compliant this morning. And now? 

With a savage grin, he dodged Madara’s flaming hands, stepping back to avoid him. Now, what could have possibly caused his little Uchiha to get so cranky? His chakra was burning with fury, desperation. Had he finally pushed him to his breaking point?

He narrowly dodged a flaming hand to the face. Madara was scowling fiercely, his Sharingan blazing, his flames burning hot and violent. Sage, he looked good like this, all furious and full of battle lust. His pants were already starting to tighten. Maybe he should let Madara rage against him more often. It was oh, so appealing. 

People were starting to stop, starting to watch. They were in the Uchiha district. Their spectators were all Uchiha, gathering to watch their clan head unleash all of his rage and fury on him. Well, best not to disappoint them. 

He gathered his chakra in his hands, freezing the water particles in the air around him and sending a storm of hail his way. Madara melted them away with a wave of his hand, charging through the flames, mouth twisted into a ferocious snarl. His fist, wreathed in fire, made contact with his face, and he reeled back. 

Lifting a hand to gingerly touch his cheek, he grinned at Madara. “Very good,” he purred, just to see Madara’s mouth twist even further. “Look at you,” he crooned, adding a patronizing tone to his voice. “So much hate, so much rage and hurt. Have I pushed you too far, little Uciha?” 

“Shut up!” Madara roared. He was on him again, unrelenting. He was fast, Tobirama noticed distantly. A lot faster than he thought. He actually had to try to avoid his angry blows. A strand of fire grazed his cheek, burning him. 

“Brat,” he hissed, clasping his hands together. Madara’s Sharingan whirled, and he leaped up and away from his next attack, burning through the vines he sent after him and evaporating the ice spears. 

Madara swept right back in moments later from above, leg raised. He brought his foot down, and Tobirama blocked it with his arms over his head. Not to be deterred, Madara twisted artfully, driving his knee into the back of his head and knocking him forward. 

Hissing, he caught himself, spinning about to face him and sending a tangle of vines at him. They wrapped around his ankles, his wrists, his neck. 

The flames encasing him flared brighter, burning them off, and he was up and fighting again. With a scowl, Tobirama met him for a violent exchange of blows, fists and feet flying and meeting their marks. A powerful roundhouse caught him in the face and sent him staggering back, and he grunted, taking several steps to keep on his feet. Madara drove forward, taking advantage of the opening. A hand grabbed his hair, hard, and yanked his face down and into the hard edge of a knee. His nose crunched, and he could taste his own blood trickling out of his nostrils. 

He took a step back, then leaped forward, striking at Madara’s chest. Madara twisted, narrowly avoiding the blow. One of his hands grabbed his upper arm, pushing it in towards his chest, and the other pressed on the inside of his wrist, pushing it out. With a quick, forceful movement, Madara forced his elbow to hyperextend, and it broke with a loud crunch. 

With a roar of fury, Tobirama sent him staggering back with a tangle of vines to his chest, forcing the Uchiha to spring back and burn them away. That little bitch. 

He flared his chakra, funneling it into his arm, healing the broken joint and torn muscle fibers. His brother's power came in handy in more ways than one. Well. The kitten has claws, doesn’t he? He cracked his neck, swirling his fingers and drawing water to pool in his hands. A few more movements, and he had a dozen spears of ice hovering around him. 

Madara’s red eyes took the spears in, and twin pillars of fire blazed in his hands. Tobirama smiled, surging forwards and tossing spear after spear of ice at him. Madara blocked and melted them all before they could reach him, and as the last sizzled away, Tobirama was up in his face. He managed to catch him in the jaw with his fist, but then Madara ducked away, quick and agile. 

Madara dodged his next blow, ducking under, surging up, and wrapping both hands around his neck. He grinned maniacally, and burned him. With a roar of fury, Tobirama shoved him back, taking a few steps away to put distance between them. 

Well, now. His Uchiha certainly was angry, wasn’t he? “So flaming,” he purred. Let’s see how he managed without all of his fire. He sent a wall of water towards Madara. Just as he predicted, Madara instantly countered with a wall of flames of his own. The cloud of steam that resulted would cover him. 

He wove together a few hand signs, and smiled. Madara surged towards him through the mist, bright and flaming. Tobirama took a step back, subtly manipulating his chakra. When Madara got closer, he smiled. Just as he thought, Madara hesitated for just a moment when he saw his smile. 

And then his water dragon crashed down on him from above. 

Madara’s angry screech was like music to him, and he laughed, calling the water back to gather in his hands, ready for his command. Madara pulled himself back to his feet, drenched. His spiky hair was flat, plastered to his face, and he laughed again. 

“Aw, what? You don’t like bath time?” 

“Bastard,” Madara hissed. He was steaming, body heating up and evaporating the water. 

“So uncreative, my dear. You’ve used that insult so many times.” 

Madara’s expression turned murderous. “I’ll fucking kill you!” he bellowed. His hands clasped together, and his Sharingan whirled. Oh, wow. He really was mad. 

Bright blue chakra leaked out of him, swirling about him like a hurricane, taking shape. The skeletal outline of his Susanoo started to form, and Tobirama sighed. As fun as this had been, it was time to end this. He couldn’t have his Uchiha getting any ideas that he could actually take him on. 

Focusing his chakra, he poured his will into the seal on Madara’s neck. “Enough!” he yelled. Madara froze in place, but his chakra continued to burn. Susanoo continued to grow, albeit slower. “Recall your power!” he commanded. “You will yield to me.”

Madara snarled, fighting the order. But he couldn’t forever. Susanoo started to fade again, retracting into his body. His chakra surged back into him. Tobirama channeled more chakra into him, watching with satisfaction as Madara faltered, wobbled, and sank unsteadily to one knee. 

With a pleased hum, Tobirama strode towards him, petting his wet hair with what might have been fondness. “I enjoyed that,” he said pleasantly. “But I can’t have you pushing your luck too far.” Madara lifted his head to glare at him, Sharingan slowly fading to black. His chakra boiled and churned furiously within him, seeking to lash out, to rage and burn, like a horse, champing at the bit. 

No, not that. A horse could take the bit between its teeth, and wrench control from its master. No, Madara was not that. He was a phoenix, a creature of fire and power, in the midst of a raging ocean, unable to spread its waterlogged wings and fly. Unable to light its flames and soar free. 

He smiled, tracing his finger over the marks he had etched into his skin. “But I appreciated your effort, Madara.” He glanced around, at the watching Uchiha’s. Their gazes were sad, pitying, watching their clan head with compassion. “Should we show them what happens when you excite me?” he purred, stepping closer and trailing his fingers down to his chin, tilting his face up further. “Should we show them what happens when you anger me? As much as I enjoyed our little fight, I didn’t order you to do so, did I? Don’t you know by now, that everything you do is to be done because I order you to do it? You were supposed to wait quietly for me, Uchiha. You didn’t. You know what that means, don’t you?” 

He leaned down, until his face was only an inch or so from Madara’s. He smiled down at him, mockingly affectionate. “Don’t you?” he asked again, fingers tightening on his chin. He watched as the fury bled from Madara’s eyes, replaced by dull resignation. The Uchiha nodded, just a little, as best he could with his hand so tight on his chin. 

Tobirama decided to clarify anyway, letting his intentions be known to the other Uchiha around them. “It means you are to be punished,” he said. He grabbed a handful of Madara’s hair, yanking his head back and exposing that pale, delicious throat. He ducked down, enthusiastically biting into it, hearing Madara’s breath hitch and his muffled sound of pain. He drew back, licking his lips at the appealing sight of his teeth marks burning red in his skin. 

“I will enjoy this,” he drawled, making sure the others could hear. “You are a strong man, Madara. A resilient, proud, and stubborn one. But how much more of this can you take before you break? Before you fall apart in front of me, and become just a shell of who you once were?” He nudged a foot between Madara’s legs, shoving them slightly apart. 

“I will ruin you,” he promised. Madara’s dark eyes were flat, void. Tobirama smiled, and reached for the hiraishin marker in his room. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

~*~*~  
*Alt.Tobirama, again*  
~*~*~

He bled so beautifully. 

Tobirama watched the blood trickle down Madara’s cheeks, flowing down over his jaw, his neck, leaving red stains down his bare chest. The newly reopened scar pulsed, sending more fresh blood over what had already spilled. 

He strode around Madara, enjoying the sight. The Uchiha was on his knees, arms bound behind his back. His pretty eyes were covered with a black blindfold. His exposed skin was littered with a scattering of cuts, deep and superficial. Bruises were blooming beautifully all over him. 

“I really don’t see why you insist on being so difficult,” he said with a sigh, trailing the barbed tip of his recently acquired leather whip over Madara’s shoulders. “You were so good this morning. So compliant and obedient and willing. What brought this on, mhm?” 

Madara stayed quiet. He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. The obedience seal saw to that. The whip trailed down his spine, curling around to run over the top of his thigh. “Do you just like to rile me up? Do you, perhaps, like what follows afterward?” 

Madara’s head bowed a little further, and his shoulders slumped. He trailed the whip up his chest, his neck, and pressed it up against the underside of his chin, lifting it up. He crouched down in front of him, watching the way his lips parted just a little, inhaling shakily. His lip was bleeding, split by a nasty blow earlier. 

Leaning in, Tobirama took his split lip between his, sucking harshly and enjoying the metallic taste. Madara made a soft whimper in protest, but of course, didn’t move. Tobirama ran his hand over his bleeding chest, stopping over trembling abdominal muscles. 

Then he stood, striding around Madara again. The whip trailed down his back. Then, he flicked it away, and cracked it down over his lower back, hard. Madara jerked, automatically twisting away with a raspy gasp. Tobirama yanked him back by the hair, craning his neck at what must have been an uncomfortable angle. 

He bent down, brushing his lips over his ear. “Still, little Uchiha,” he breathed quietly. “Nice and still for me…” He shoved Madara back in place, and brought the whip cracking back down again, hardly an inch from where the first slice bled so prettily. 

Again and again, the whip came down. Tobirama watched, fascinated, as the skin tore beneath the whips barbed tip and harsh leather, staining the pale flesh. Madara quivered beneath the onslaught, his hands curling into fists in his binds. 

Tobirama stopped when hardly an inch of skin on his low back remained intact. Madara’s breaths were harsh, his chest heaving. Tobirama dropped to his knees behind him, running his fingers over the lashes, grinning when Madara trembled under his touch. Rather absentmindedly, he brought his bloodstained fingers to his mouth, licking the blood off. 

“Red looks so good on you,” he said, brushing his hair aside and trailing his lips up his spine, all the way up to the nape of his neck. He raised one hand, trailing a finger down the mark etched into his cheek. “I marked you as mine,” he mused. “But still you disobey me. Do I need to mark you again?” 

Madara made no reply. Of course he didn’t. 

“I take that as a yes.” He plucked a kunai out of his belt, thumbing its tip and staring at the expanse of skin in front of him. “Should I give you scars to match mine? Or should I give you a new one?” 

He trailed the flat of the blade over Madara’s back, sliding slowly up and down between his shoulder blades. “Ah, I know,” he said, pleased with himself. He sank his kunai into Madara’s skin, watching the blood spill from the small puncture. Then, he set to work. 

Madara twitched and trembled as he worked, head bowed and breath raspy. But he didn’t flinch away, or hiss out a curse or protest. Progress. 

It took a few minutes. When he was done, Tobirama wiped the blood with his hand, licking it off his fingers, and grinning maniacally to himself. The symbol of the Senju clan was etched into Madara’s flesh, red and raw. 

“Ownership is a beautiful thing,” he said, running his hand harshly over the cuts, just to see Madara flinch. “Wouldn’t you agree?” He gripped Madara’s shoulders, turning him around to face him. He ran his thumbs over the drying blood on his cheeks, bringing them to his mouth once more to taste it. Along with the metallic iron, there was a hint of salt. 

Surprised, Tobirama tilted his face up again. “Are those tears, little Uchiha?” He pulled the blindfold off, tossing it aside. Madara stared back at him, dazed and glassy eyed. His eyelashes were just a little damp. “Have I caused you such pain?” he asked pleasantly, running his fingers under his eyes. 

Madara just continued to stare at him, black eyes empty. “You can speak to me, you know,” Tobirama said, and Madara’s lip twisted. 

“I’ll kill you,” he rasped, weak and hoarse. Tobirama grinned. So, he still had a little bit of fight in him, didn’t he? So stubborn. 

He caressed his Uchiha’s face, thumbing over the freshly cut open scars, admiring the blood staining his pale skin. “You can try,” he said agreeably. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips gently over Madara’s. “But you know, just as well as I do. You can never do anything to me. You can bark, but you have no bite. Not anymore.” 

Madara’s eyes looked tired, resigned. Tobirama inwardly crooned. He wouldn't last much longer. Soon, he’d be broken, shattered into fragments of himself. He’d fall apart so beautifully. With a rather absentminded thought, Tobirama freed Madara’s wrists, gripping his shoulders and shoving him onto his back. 

Madara’s face twisted deliciously into a pained expression as his lashes and cuts made contact with the ground. Tobirama leaned down on him, keeping him in place, slipping between his thighs. “Did you think I was done with you, Madara?” he drawled, seeing a flicker of rebellion spark in his dark eyes. “I promised to punish you for this, didn’t I? We’re just getting started.” 

Dismay warred with the pain on his face, and then it all faded away into nothing; a blank mask. Tobirama tsked. Soon, he’d be making all those nice little expressions and sounds again, resulting from a delightful mixture of pain and pleasure. 

“Do I have to retrain you?” he asked, as Madara stiffened when he ran his hands down his chest. “Do you really want that, Madara?”

His pretty, dark eyes closed. Then, he slowly shook his head. “Good,” Tobirama approved, his smile widening. “Then you know what to do, don’t you? Be a dear and give me a hand.” 

Madara’s eyes opened again, utterly resigned and weary. Slowly, his hands trembling just a little, he reached out, and started undoing Tobirama’s belt, pushing his clothes off of him. Tobirama watched him with a gleeful grin. “You know, I almost don’t mind when you misbehave,” he purred, just to see Madara’s lips press into a thin line. “Not if this is what will follow afterward. I should be thanking you, really.” 

Madara didn’t reply, just worked on undressing him in silence. As the last article of clothing fell away, Tobirama pounced, teeth sinking into his neck, and he set about showing Madara his appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to see Mads suffer  
> .....What exactly does that say about me? :O


	17. Mind is a Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, this took twenty years to write.

~*~*~

Hashirama’s face was uncharacteristically grim when he opened the door and ushered him inside, as it so often seemed to be lately. As was his habit, he put a hand on Madara’s shoulder, taking a startled step back when Madara hissed in pain. 

When they reached the kitchen, Mito took one look at him, set down her tea, and silently prowled out of the room. Hashirama pinched the fabric of his sleeve. “Can I?” he asked quietly, his dark eyes shadowed. It looked so foreign, so wrong on his friend's face. Madara sighed quietly, and nodded. 

With Hashirama’s help, he wiggled out of his shirt, wincing as the slowly forming scabs ripped off with the fabric. He heard Hashirama inhale sharply, and then the Senju was gently guiding him to sit at the kitchen table. With a groan, Madara folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, resting his head on his forearms. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mito come back, carrying a small basin and some clothes. Wordlessly, she wet one of the clothes, rang it out, and started washing the blood from his back. Normally, Madara was far too proud to just sit and let this happen. But right now? He could hardly bring himself to care at how vulnerable he was in front of them. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to relax as the couple tended to his injuries. Hashirama’s warm fingers traced the Senju symbol etched between his shoulder blades. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked quietly. Madara caught the second question lying under his words. 

“No,” he said quietly. Hashirama hummed quietly. Madara could very well imagine the look on his face, all disappointed anger and frustration. Not-Tobirama had very clearly stated that he didn’t want Hashirama to heal ANY of his wounds, and Madara refused him when he tried to anyway. The demon seemed to like seeing the healing scars, and Madara doubted he’d like his ‘hard work’ go to waste if Hashirama healed them. 

The uncomfortable burning itch started to fade as the two of them cleaned the wounds, smeared some kind of thick gel over it, and wrapped him in bandages. Some kind of salve? Madara had no idea. He zooned out as they worked, staring sightlessly ahead of him. 

The air was heavy, oppressive, as they finished. “I was told what happened,” Hashirama said quietly, helping Madara redress. “One of your Uchiha said you attacked him when he came to…. visit you. You must have known what he’d do, Madara. So why did you?” 

Madara turned, giving him a look. Ah, hell. May as well. 

“I saw Tobirama,” he said, rather unelegantly. Hashirama stared at him. 

“Yeah, me too. This morning. I know you saw him, that doesn’t explain why you decided to attack him while-”

“No, no,” Madara interrupted. “I mean the other one. Our Tobirama.” At Hashirama’s blank stare, he elaborated. “I think he’s working on a way to get home. It’s like...a portal? Of some kind? Anyways, I saw him, but we couldn’t hear each other and neither of us could pass through cuz it burnt me when I tried. And then other Tobirama arrived and I couldn’t let him see it so I decided to distract him, and….” 

He trailed off when Mito and Hashirama exchanged a worried look. “Madara,” Mito said, taking hold of his shoulders and turning him around to sit again. Her hand pressed against his forehead, and she squinted at his eyes. “Are you feeling okay? Have you eaten or drinken anything….odd, lately?” 

“What?” He stared up at her, confused. “No?” 

“Hashirama?” Mito said meaningfully, stepping back. “Did we miss an old injury?” 

Hashirama stepped forward, his hand glowing with chakra, and Madara stiffened, until his hand pressed against his chest and ran down. Not healing, he realized. Diagnosing. “I’m not finding any signs of poison,” he said carefully. “Or infection. Should we bring in Kenara? Maybe it’s not a physical thing.” 

Kenara Yamanaka? Madara frowned. Why would they want to bring her in? She didn’t have any scientific knowledge, as far as he knew. Or any medical expertise. She was exceptionally skilled at anything involving the mind, but…

“You don’t believe me,” he realized, pushing Hashirama’s hand away. Hashirama’s face was eerily calm. 

“Madara,” he began, carefully. “You’ve been through a lot. No one would blame you for this. The mind can only take so much before-” 

“I’m not crazy!” he burst, leaping to his feet and shoving Hashirama back, seething. The Senju took a few steps back, and raised a hand, placatingly. 

“Madara, it’s okay. I understand that you don’t want to-” 

“Hashirama!” Madara stormed up to him, furious, and feeling his chakra pull as his Sharingan activated. “Do you really believe that I would imagine this? Hallucinate it? Do you really think me so weak?!” 

“No, no, of course not, Madara,” Hashirama soothed, still in that gentle, careful tone of voice. It had Madara burning with fury. 

“He has not broken me,” he hissed, venomously. “He will never break me!” He grabbed Hashirama by the lapels, yanking him down to eye level. “Not while I have even the smallest grain of hope that your brother can come back.” 

He shoved Hashirama away, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself, willing his Sharingan to deactivate. Then, he turned to Mito. “Thank you,” he said, bowing his head to her, and then Hashirama. 

With that, he marched out of the house, smoking visibly. Did Hashirama and Mito really think…. 

His anger started to mix with dismay. He never thought that Hashirama would start to doubt him, and his grasp on reality. Madara knew what he saw. The mind could be fooled, as could the eyes, but not his senses, not when he was so strong a sensor. 

He paused before entering the Uchiha district, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t hallucinated, had he? He wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be. 

No, he wasn’t. There was charred fruit in his kitchen. He hadn’t bought or burned them, and no one else would have come into his home but himself and Not-Tobirama. And the demon Senju didn’t seem like the type to leave weird little gifts like that. Or any gifts, really. 

Reassured, he slipped through the streets, avoiding other members of his clan. The basket of fruit on his counter fully settled his sudden self doubt. With a soft sigh, he started rearranging the fruits. If Tobirama was working on a way home, how long would it be until he managed to come back? Clearly, whatever he was working on now wasn’t safe yet. Would he be able to figure out a way to make it safe? 

He stared at the kitchen window, where only hours ago, the portal had blazed. But…

If Tobirama could figure out how to come home, and they somehow managed to send Not-Tobirama back to his own dimension, wouldn’t Not-Tobirama be able to make a portal too? They were the same person, after all. Sure, there were differences. But they both had a terrifying level of smarts. If Tobirama could do it, Not-Tobirama could too. And what would stop him from coming right back here once he had mimicked Tobirama’s work?

What would stop him from ruling over BOTH Konohas? He could run back and forth between the two. He certainly had the power to do so. Especially if he took Hashirama’s power. Why hadn’t he already? The question frustrated Madara. It made no sense for Not-Tobirama to hold out for so long. Was he waiting on purpose, letting the fear of his imminent actions grow?

All these questions, and no answers. He’d never find them on his own. “Come on, Tobirama,” he found himself saying quietly. “You gotta come home.” 

~*~*~

Hashirama tapped his fingers on the table. Across from him, Mito toyed with the handle of her mug, her thin eyebrows knitted together. “There’s not many left, is there?” he said quietly, reaching for his own tea. 

Mito shook her head, not looking up from the paper in front of her. “Nearly all of the village,” she said with a sigh. “How has it come to this?” 

Hashirama didn’t reply, and they sat in silence for a while. “I worry,” he said after a time. “Madara. He’s...not himself.” 

“Would you be?” Mito asked, finally looking up. “You saw the state he was in today.” 

“Why does it have to be him?” he asked, letting some of his grief and frustration leak into his voice. “Madara’s already lost so much, had so much happen to him. Why must he endure this too?” 

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. 

“He’s losing his mind,” Hashirama went on, standing to pace. “I was worrying about his mental state already, but now? He’s hallucinating things, Mito! What if this other Tobirama drives Madara further? What if we lose him, and not just mentally?” 

“We won’t.” Mito stood too, catching his wrist and stopping him. She threaded her fingers with his. “Madara can hold out a little longer. And we can keep working on it. In the meantime, let’s just support him, okay? He’s the only thing keeping us relatively safe for now. As much as I hate to say it, we need him to keep doing so. He’s giving us time. Shikaya and I are making progress. Izuna’s willing to help us start some tests.” 

“I don’t like having to use Madara like this,” Hashirama said quietly. Mito smiled, a tiny, sad smile. 

“I know. I don’t either.” He lifted one of her hands, pressing his lips against her fingers. “We’ll keep an eye on Madara,” she promised. “If he deteriorates further, we’ll talk to Kenara Yamanaka. Maybe she can put a block in his mind, suppress the memories and the trauma as they happen.” 

“I hope so,” he said quietly. Mito pulled her hand away. 

“We’ll get through this, Hashirama. We are shinobi. We survive.” 

~*~*~

“We are shinobi. We will survive this.” 

Mito tilted her head back, giving him a challenging glare. Her dyed blond hair still looked weird to him. Tobirama shook his head. 

“No,” he said firmly. “When it’s figured out, I’ll come back. I don’t want you crossing into my world. There’s a chance you could get stuck there.” 

“And who's to say you won’t get stuck in this one if you come back?” Shiyana challenged. 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Tobirama said evenly. 

“Guys, wait,” Izuna protested, holding up his hands. “We haven’t even managed to make the portal safe enough to go through. Let alone take more people through it. How about, instead of fighting over who gets to use it and go through it, we just focus on making it actually useable, yes?” 

Bless Izuna and his straightforward sense. He sent the Uchiha a grateful look, and Izuna winked. “Excellent idea,” he approved. “Shall we, then?” 

Shiyana sighed, but let the matter drop. Mito just rolled her eyes, reaching for a pile of papers. Bless her and her clan, may they rest in peace. 

The two women followed him and Izuna back to the training hall, and the Uzumaki sat down on the floor, spreading her papers in front of her. “Izuna, can you think of any adverse side effects on your part?” 

Izuna sat down beside her, dark eyes switching to his Sharingan, analyzing the pattern of hand signs she and Tobirama had created. “I’m not sure,” he said carefully. “In theory, it’ll work. But it could backfire, too.” 

“How do you mean?” Shiyana asked, raising a thin eyebrow. 

“This jutsu is designed to cool the energy fire produces right at its source,” Izuna explained. “So, instead of Tobirama absorbing all of the heat and cooling it with his own chakra, this jutsu would cool it before that, and hopefully make it more usable and easier to manipulate, right? And then that way, with cooler energy, thus more managale energy, the portal should be less volatile and safe to pass through. But there’s always a chance that the jutsu will cool the energy too much. If that happens, it moves slower, weaker. It might not be able to produce enough power.” 

“Well,” Tobirama said, cracking his neck. “Why don’t we find out?” 

~*~*

It was strange, for fire to feel so...cold. 

When they tried this before, it had been hot, raging, burning. But now? 

It felt pleasant, almost. The fire converted to energy as it entered his palms, rushing through him, merging with his own chakra. The seals inked on the floor in front of him flared, and he went through his space travel jutsu. His chakra pinged aggressively, and with a familiar rush of wind and power, the portal opened. 

It was bigger this time, and the purple fire that ringed it was darker, flickering with blue. On the other side was a familiar scene. Madara’s kitchen was empty, besides an enormous basket of fruit. Tobirama tried not to dwell on the disappointment. 

“Well, it opened,” Izuna said, taking a hesitant step closer. “But did it work? Really, really work this time?” 

Tobirama pursed his lips, eyeing the portal. It looked mostly the same, besides the change in size and the colour. Slowly, he reached forwards, pushing his fingers through the flickering barrier. 

Where as last time it had been hot, burning, now it was the opposite. It was so cold, so icy. Tobirama flinched back, shaking his hand violently. Ice and frost coated his finger tips, and he tucked his hand under his armpit with a wince, trying to melt it and unfreeze his fingers. “Oh,” Izuna said quietly, sounding disappointed. “So, too much cooling effect.” 

“It seems to be that way,” Tobirama said grimly. His fingers hurt, a lot. It was a strange sensation. The cold had never really hurt him before. Just like how Madara had never been burned by his flames, he had never been cold or injured because of his water and the coolness associated with it. How strange that now their own elements were turning on them. 

He glanced through the portal again, and frowned. “We’ll have to ramp up the power again,” he said, thoughtfully. “The cooling effect should be enough, but we’ll need more fire, more heat, to combat it.” 

“More Uchiha’s,” Hikaku said, flicking his fingers and sending a small spire of fire swirling up. Tobirama nodded distractedly. 

“Yes, exactly.” He frowned deeply, trying to do the math. “Maybe another 3? That should be sufficient. You two have larger than normal chakra reserves, and most other Uchiha can’t match your power quite as strong.” 

“I’ll find some,” Izuna promised. Tobirama nodded, still gazing at the portal. His chakra tugged angrily, tiredly, protesting its continuation. 

And then, a flicker of movement. From around the corner, Madara Uchiha came storming into the room, his dark eyes bright with….something. 

“For Sages sake!” Madara said, irritably, glaring at him

Tobirama froze. Izuna squeaked. 

“Madara?” 

The Uchiha on the other side of the portal stopped, looking just as surprised as he felt. “You can hear me?” he asked slowly, squinting. 

“Yeah. You can hear us?” 

Madara nodded, taking a few steps closer. “Don’t touch it,” Tobirama warned, waving to the portal. “It’s not ready yet. But we’re close.” 

Madara paused in front of the portal. If it hadn’t been there, if they had been in the same dimension, they would have stood barely a foot apart. “How close?” he asked quietly. 

“We..we’re almost there,” he said softly. An unreadable expression flashed across Madara’s face. It was then that Tobirama noticed something. 

The Uchiha looked terrible. The permanent shadows under his eyes had grown darker, deeper. A nasty, yellowing bruise spread over one side of his face, evidently a few days old already. The scars that Tobirama had seen last time looked like they had been reopened; they were scabbing, and looked painful. He wasn’t wearing his usual mantle; instead, he was wearing a loose shirt and loose pants; the shirts collar was low, revealing a swirl of cuts and bruises and...bite marks, all over his neck, his collarbones, and the bit of his chest that he could see. 

“What happened to you?” he asked, resisting the urge to step closer. If he did, he’d walk through the portal and freeze to death. Madara’s dark eyes dulled. 

“Oh, you know…” He waved a hand dismissively. “Everyone has enemies.” 

“Why hasn’t Hashirama healed you?” he demanded, and Madara smiled, just a little. 

“I don’t want him to. He has enough on his plate...”

That….didn’t sound right. Hashirama was ridiculously protective of his best friend. He’d never let him walk around in such a state. “Is he...alright?” he asked, slowly. He almost didn’t want to know the answer. 

“Hashirama is fine,” Madara reassured. Tobirama nodded slowly. 

“And Konoha? How is it?” 

Madara’s face twisted. “Not good,” he admitted, shifting his weight. Tobirama didn’t miss the way he winced. 

“What do you mean?” he demanded. 

“How much do you know about your alternate self?” Madara asked in return. Tobirama nodded, grimly. 

“A lot,” he said with a sigh. “Has he done anything?” 

Madara pursed his lips. “He has an obedience seal on almost everyone in Konoha,” he said quietly. He briefly touched his own neck. “Not Hashirama, luckily. But this other Tobirama can force us all to do what he wants, even without a seal. He had Izuna almost kill himself many times, and so much more.” 

“He’s taking over, subtly,” Tobirama realized. Madara nodded. 

“He hasn’t tried to take Hashirama’s power yet, but it’s only a matter of time. He’s….occupied, for now.” 

“Occupied how?” 

Madara looked away. “He just, has something to distract him. For now. But he could lose interest at anytime.” He looked back again. “You need to get back here,” he said, almost desperately. Tobirama stared at him. That wasn’t a tone of voice Madara often used. “Get back here, and send this other one back.” 

“I’m trying,” Tobirama promised. “I am, really.” 

Madara ran his fingers through his wild mane. “Yeah, you probably are.” His eyes finally moved past Tobirama, taking in the other people standing behind him. “Izuna,” he said, smiling just a little. “You look nice with short hair.” 

Izuna choked on a laugh, stepping closer. Tobirama moved aside to let him, but stayed close enough to grab him incase he tried to dive through the portal. “You look tired, anija.” 

“Always,” Madara said, with a humorous laugh. “You’re...okay?” 

“Better,” Izuna said with a shrug. “I can see again, and I can use chakra, so…” He trailed off for a moment. “I miss you. I know you’re not really my brother, but you are, in a way. And…” 

“Hey,” Madara broke in. “Just because I’m in a different dimension doesn’t mean I can’t big brother you. You look just as tired. Tobirama, what have you been doing to my little brother?” Tobirama smirked. 

“Nothing. Izuna insists on working round the clock to get me home. He worries about you.” Madara tilted his head. 

“Ah, don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.” He glanced back at Tobirama, and squinted. “The portal drains your energy, your chakra, doesn’t it?” he assumed. Tobirama nodded. “I thought so. You look ready to pass out.” 

“I’m getting there. But I can last, for a bit. What else should I know?” 

Madara shook his head. “Just that you need to get home and send him away. And fast.” 

“Anything about yourself?” he hinted. Madara stiffened. 

“No.” 

“Madara,” Izuna said slowly, hesitantly. “The Tobirama from my world made it no secret how he...wanted you. Has he tried to-” 

“No, no. Don’t worry, chick. He can’t touch me.” 

He was lying. Tobirama knew it, and Izuna knew it too. The older Uchiha looked away, stiffening. “Please tell me you can close this portal whenever you want,” he said quietly, so softly he barely heard him. 

“Of course. Why?” 

“You need to close it, now. Other Tobirama is here and I don’t think we want him knowing what you’re doing.” 

“Anija,” Izuna whispered, but Madara shook his head, looking back and forth from the portal and away. 

“Close it! Now!” 

Tobirama drew his chakra back, and the portal hissed out of being, leaving the space before them empty and quiet. 

“You need to rest a little,” Mito said, breaking the silence that followed. Tobirama opened his mouth to protest, but Mito held up her hand, her expression firm. “No, you listen to me. You're not helping anyone working yourself to death. When this portal finally works, you’re going to be busy. You won’t have time to rest and replenish your chakra, and then what good will you be? You’ll travel through and directly into a fight, Tobirama. You must be at your full strength.” 

“We can keep on working,” Izuna said, with a tiny smile. “I’ll find some more Uchiha, and we'll figure out the balance between the fire and the cooling jutsu. When it’s ready, we’ll open the portal, and you can go home.” 

Tobirama started to protest again, but Shiyana cut him off this time. “Mito is right,” she said, giving him a look. “You’re always nagging us to stay rested and healthy. You’re being a little hypocritical you know.” 

Tobirama did not appreciate being called out like that. 

“They’re right you know,” Hashirama said, striding into the room with a tired grin. “Come, come, take a nap.” His brother from another dimension slung an arm over his shoulder, gently but firmly steering him away. 

As much as he wanted to stay and keep working, he saw the logic on their arguments. He let Hashirama pull him away and guide him to the bunk bed quarter. The beds weren’t overly comfortable, but he sank into it gratefully. 

Hashirama fretted over him, humming softly. Tobirama watched him, his sharp eyes narrowing just a little. “You seem….to be in a good mood,” he commented. Hashirama paused, hands stilling over the blanket he was unfolding.

“I am,” he said, shaking the blanket out. He poked and shoved at Tobirama, urging him to lie down and tossing the blanket over him. “It’s been a while since I was able to do this,” he said, fluffing the blanket. Tobirama, while he normally didn’t like to be...pampered, raised an eyebrow, and let him fret. 

“Do what?” 

“Take care of my little brother,” Hashirama said quietly, sitting on the bed beside him and running his fingers through Tobirama’s white hair. Tobirama sat dutifully still. “I was never really able to do this with my Tobirama,” Hashirama continued. “My other little brothers, yes. But Tobirama? No, not really.” 

“The Hashirama from my world dotes constantly,” he offered, not really sure what else to say. Hashirama laughed quietly.

“It’s a Hashirama thing, it seems.” Tobirama chuckled dryly, closing his eyes. Hashirama stroked through his hair a few more times. While he didn’t usually let Hashirama be so….affectionate with him, he allowed it. This time. 

Maybe a small bit of him felt bad for the Hashirama from this world, having lost all his other brothers. And having his last surviving one be totally insane. 

It was a little unsettling to have someone right beside him as he fell asleep. But this was Hashirama. There were very few he trusted more than his brother. Even if he was from another dimension. 

As his consciousness started to drift, and his thoughts grew scattered, the little figment of his mind that was somewhat aware drifted, inexplicably, to Madara. 

Sage. What was happening to him right now?

He was hiding something, evidently. Maybe he just didn’t want to say anything in front of Izuna. But what was it? 

He knew, mostly, from Izuna what this other Tobirama wanted with Madara. But had he managed to actually….do it? Had Madara given in to it? 

And if he had...would he be able to recover from it?

Would he ever even get the chance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up. Or, are they cooling down? 
> 
> *also next chapter might take a while, I have a big exam next week and i am STRESSED*


	18. Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara's mad. And sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think I passed the exams. Only time will tell! Enjoy this garbage that I wrote after half a bottle of wine and an excess of chicken nuggets as my celebratory snack

~*~*~

Madara watched the portal vanish with a flurry of purple sparks, flaring his senses cautiously. Ah, he had been right. Not-Tobirama was prowling around outside. He could detect flickers of chakra. Part of him wanted to go out and see what he was doing. Another part of him wanted to just stay put and wait for him to come in, like he surely would. 

He debated for a while, wringing his fingers restlessly. Ah, screw it. Honestly, what was the worst that could happen at this point? Mind made up, he marched out to the backyard. Not-Tobirama was crouching in the middle of the yard, his back to him. Madara stood on the porch, watching him. 

Not-Tobirama ignored him for a while, doing whatever the heck he was doing. It was an eternity before he finally stood, facing him with a crooked grin. “Good afternoon,” he drawled, brushing the dirt off his hands. 

Madara didn’t return his greeting. “What are you doing?” he said instead. . Not-Tobirama’s grin sharpened. 

“None of your business, birdie.” He strode closer, and Madara stood dutifully still. Pale hands grabbed the front of his shirt, and Not-Tobirama leaned down, pressing his lips against his. He thankfully pulled back, very soon. “Busy tonight?” 

How badly he wanted to say yes. “No.” 

“Good.” His fingers brushed over his cheek. “Perhaps I was a little...harsh with you yesterday,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me make it up to you tonight.” 

The words had warning bells blaring in his head. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. Not-Tobirama just hummed quietly. 

“You’ll see. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

“You say that a lot, Senju. You have yet to uphold it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re picky and impossible to please.” His fingers moved, curling into his hair and pulling, yanking his head back. His lips descended down on his again, hungry and demanding. The feeling of his tongue pushing insistently against his mouth, seeking entrance, made him want to pull back and screech at him. 

It made him sick to know he didn’t have much of a choice. Reluctantly, he parted his lips obediently, letting the Senju step closer, his other arm winding around his waist and yanking him closer. “Good,” the Senju purred, working his hand up the back of his shirt, trailing over the scabbing whip lashes over his back, trailing higher and higher until he could finally trace his fingers over the Senju symbol carved between his shoulder blades. 

Then he inhaled harshly, pulling away. Madara winced at the dark, heated look in his eyes. “I’ll control myself,” Not-Tobirama muttered, more to himself than to Madara. “I’ll be...nice, to you. You’ll let me, won’t you? You’ll behave for me, right?” 

“Always.” The word fell like ash from his tongue, and the urge to throw up came right back. 

“Good bird,” Not-Tobirama approved, his lips moving slow and lazy over his again. Finally, he pulled away fully, his hand sliding out of his shirt. “I’ll be back at 10,” he said huskily, breath hot against his ear. “Wear your hair up.” 

“Why?” 

“Just do it.” He stepped back, fingertips brushing over his cheek again. “See you soon.” With that, he hirashined away, leaving Madara staring vaguely into space.

What the hell was with this guy? 

He raked his fingers through his hair, sighing. He was dreading the night, already. Then his thoughts drifted, and he stared at the dirt in front of him, dark and disturbed from whatever Not-Tobirama had been doing. Speaking of which…

Madara crouched down, brushing his gloved fingers over the ground, displacing the dirt Not-Tobirama had been messing around with. It took a bit of work, but he finally dug deep enough. There was a small box in the ground, locked and sealed. Well, that was no issue. 

He activated his Sharingan, lifting the box to eye level and staring very intently at it. While he couldn’t just straight up see through the box, like those blasted Hyuuga probably could, he could easily see chakra flares and the like. 

Whatever was in the box was definitely emitting chakra, radiating out of it like a beacon. A moment of further consideration had him realizing it wasn’t some random emission. It came off in regular waves, pulses, following defined lines. 

His Sharingan swirled, following one of the lines of chakra to the right. Much to his surprise, it led to another buried box, emitting just as much chakra. Further investigation led to the discovery of two other boxes around his house. Chakra lines connected all of them, forming a wide square all around his home. 

Bemused, he shook the box he was still holding, clawing absentmindedly at the lid. It was sealed shut, obviously. It’d take work to crack it open. But what was it for? What could Not-Tobirama possibly want with these? 

A bad feeling started creeping up, slowly working up from his stomach and to his throat. He set the box down in its hole, watching the chakra lines wobble and flare. Sharingan still activated, he straightened, and stepped over the chakra line. 

It was like walking into a solid brick wall. With a burst of chakra and energy, he was pushed back several feet. 

Oh, no. 

No, no, no. 

His chakra flared furiously, and he clenched his hands into fists. He stomped forward, reaching out and pressing his hand against the invisible barrier. The chakra flared, turning a very visible blue, firmly holding him back. 

Of all the blasted fucking-

He inhaled deeply. Screw this shit. 

His chakra unleashed, flaring and burning furiously. Susanno’s skeleton started to form around him, its arms crashing down on the barrier. Much to his surprise, the barrier held up, flaring so brightly it made Madara wince. The powerful reaction had bright blue flares arching up higher, and he watched tendrils of chakra flash over him, streaking down to the other sides of his house, right where he knew the other boxes were. 

Susanno disappeared, his chakra retreating back into him. His Sharingan whirled faster, and he turned his attention back to the first box, carefully observing the chakra pulses. The waves came fast enough that the new one would fill the void that could have been left behind by the old one, leaving no gaps to wiggle through. 

Now that he was watching a little more carefully, he could see the chakra radiating to the sides, up, and down. It dove beneath his feet, through the ground, connecting to the others. Utterly surrounding him and his home. 

His fingers tightened around the box. Well. Flames burst out of his hands, licking over the box. It did nothing. Fury welled up in him just as sudden and unbidden as before. The flames burned hotter, more aggressive. Nothing. 

With a screech of fury, he tossed the box away with as much might as he could. It only moved maybe 2 or 3 feet before it vanished from sight, only to reappear right back in the spot Madara had found it. 

His temper raged, and he carded up every trick he knew, trying to either destroy the box or get rid of it or open it. There must have been some sort of seal tag inside it, and inside the others, to construct a barrier so sturdy and powerful. But he couldn’t crack it open, he couldn’t burn it or otherwise destroy it, and despite all his efforts, he couldn’t move it more than two feet from its spot. And he couldn’t LEAVE, no matter what he tried. Not even Susanoo could escape it. It didn’t take him long to discover another problem: the barrier fed off his chakra, using it to strengthen itself. 

After several hours of raging and cursing, his chakra rather well used, he stopped his rampage, tossing the box to the ground in fury and storming back into the house. He couldn’t even put to words his thoughts. He was utterly, and completely, furious. 

Was this Not-Tobirama’s next attempt to contain him? ‘I’m going to kill him,’ he seethed, storming through his house like a hurricane. His mind helpfully conjured up several appealing ways to do so. 

He stopped in the living room, taking in a deep breath and willing his flames to recede under his skin once more. His eyes, still blazing red with Sharingan, settled on the clock ticking cheerfully on the counter. 9:53. Fucking good. 

~*~*~

The moment Not-Tobirama strolled into his home, closing the door behind him, Madara pounced, tackling him to the floor, hands wrapping around his throat. “You fucking bastard!” he shrieked, letting go with one hand to give into the urge to punch him in his stupid smirking mouth. 

A vine wrapped around his wrist before it could make contact, yanking it off course and hauling him to the side. Not-Tobirama surged up at the same time, swiftly reversing their positions and pressing Madara down. Hissing through bared teeth, Madara clawed at him, nails coming so perfectly close to scratching out his stupid eyes. 

“You found my gift, I presume?” he asked cheerfully, innocently. Madara twisted, successfully flexing and wrapping his legs around his neck, crossing his knees and ankles, and squeezing. 

“Damn right I did,” he growled, feeling his thighs start to tremble with strain. Not-Tobirama grinned, despite his face starting to turn red as Madara cut off his air. He grabbed Madara’s wrists, yanking them away from his face. Vines curled around his right knee, swirling up his thigh and pulling firmly, yanking it to the side and breaking his choke hold. Not-Tobirama pushed his other leg off his shoulder, cracking his neck and glancing down at his legs appreciatively. 

“Easy, kitten,” he scolded. Madara’s Sharingan helpfully provided him the image of one of his hands weaving through a few simple signs, and more vines sprouted out of the floor, curling around his limbs, his torso, his neck. “Put your claws back in, fluffy. Didn’t you promise to be good?” 

“Fuck you!” Madara bellowed, flames rippling over his skin. Moments later, they were gone, the obedience seal on his neck tingling uncomfortably as it activated, forcefully suppressing the fire. Not-Tobirama hummed, his evil eyes glinting. 

“Oh, I was hoping you’d fail this test,” he said brightly. “To pass, you would have just had to accept this all, darling. You’d find the barrier, realize what it means, and accept it with no argument. But no, you did exactly what I wanted, and knew, you’d do. You raged and burned, all bright with fury, right? I could feel you so strongly. It was hard not to just come here and have you…”

“I’m going to kill you!” Madara snarled, pulling against the vines. Another one formed, slipping between his teeth, effectively gagging him. 

“You may try,” Not-Tobirama said agreeably. “We both know you won’t. You can’t.” His fingers wrapped around his hair, yanking hard, forcing Madara to arch back with a wince. His mouth immediately descended on his neck. “I promised I’d be nice to you tonight,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. “I promised to make it up to you. I only intended on doing so if you behaved, birdie. But you know what? You didn’t behave, did you? You raged and stormed, and misbehaved. You know what that means by now, don’t you?” 

It sickened him that he did. All of his rage, his fury, faded. Resigned acceptance took its place, and he closed his eyes. Fingers grasped his chin, and warm breath tickled over his cheek. “Don’t you, little bird? Don’t you?” 

He was waiting. Madara nodded. 

“Good boy.” The vines loosened around him, and Not-Tobirama leaned back, standing. Moments later, hands wrapped around his arms, dragging him to his feet. He opened his eyes, deactivating his Sharingan. Not-Tobirama stared down at him. 

Too close, too near. Too much. 

Madara took a step back, seeking distance as a shield between them. Not-Tobirama’s hands tightened, and he yanked him forward, dragging him through the halls and to his room. The moment the door shut, hands ripped his shirt from his chest, and his loose pants were similarly discarded. Vines wrapped around his limbs again, hauling him down onto the bed, securely binding his wrists and ankles. 

He watched Not-Tobirama prowl closer, clenching his teeth down on the vine in his mouth. His stomach rolled, and churned sickly when Not-Tobirama shed his own clothes, leaving them in a messy pile. 

The vine over his mouth retreated, and Not-Tobirama’s mouth took its place moments later, tongue demanding entrance and meeting no resistance. Not-Tobirama descended on him, rough hands brushing over his bruised and battered body. “How long?” he growled, lips moving to his ear, biting the skin under it. “How long until you just give in? I’ve been patient with you, Madara. But I won’t be for much longer.” 

“What more do you want?” Madara said weakly. “Have I not given you enough? I let you fuck me, I’ve ASKED you to fuck me. I’ve given you everything you wanted!” 

“Not everything,” Not-Tobirama disagreed. “You’ve given me your body. You will give me your heart, your soul. Your power, too, someday.” His mouth moved down his neck. “And you can give me so much more.” 

“Can I?” Madara challenged. “That seems like everything to me.” 

Not-Tobirama hummed, and busied himself by making marks on his skin, fresh ones overlapping the old ones. “Does your clan expect you to have an heir?” 

Madara blinked at the roof. That was not what he was expecting him to say. “Um. I don’t know. It never came up…” 

“Perhaps that expectation falls to Izuna,” Not-Tobirama continued. “But if you could have an heir, would you?” He leaned back, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Madara’s head, and stared down at him. 

“I don’t know….” 

“Why not?” 

“....I never thought about it…?” 

Not-Tobirama hummed, leaning down again, nipping at his chest. “I could give you an heir, you know.” 

Ice rocketed through his veins. “What?” 

“I can give you an heir. Imagine, a child born between the greatest Uchiha and the greatest Senju. A child with your fire, my water and ice, and maybe even Hashirama’s Wood Style would be passed down too. They’d be perfect; strong, powerful. I’d carve them to be ruthless, a perfect weapon, a perfect soldier for their father.” 

“What?” Madara squeaked. Not-Tobirama pulled back again, and smiled, dark and maniacal. 

“You say you’ve given me everything you can. You haven’t. You can give me a child, one day.” Something wrapped around his chest, tight and not physically there. 

“What are you talking about?!” Madara demanded, pulling against his binds. “In case you missed the obvious, we’re both male, you idiot! We can’t have a kid! What the hell is going through your deranged mind to make you think that?!” 

“There are ways to make nature work for us,” Not-Tobirama replied, seeming unbothered. “Don’t we already manipulate nature? Make it do as we please, through jutsus and seals? We can do this too. Nothing is impossible.” 

Anxiety spiked, and he shook his head rapidly. “No. No. Don’t you dare try to use some twisted jutsu on me, you fucking-”

A hand slapped over his mouth, and Not-Tobirama glowered at him. “You do as I say,” he growled. “If I decide to use anything on you, do anything to you, you will sit back and take it like a good fucking tramp. Understood?” 

“No!” he snarled, thrashing and twisting. This was going too far. “Even if you could miraculously make it work, there’s no way I’d ever give any child of mine to YOU! You’re a demon, and I won’t have another Uchiha under your grasp!” 

A blow to the face had his vision blacking for a few moments. When it cleared, Not-Tobirama’s face was dangerously close to his, his lips twisted in a furious snarl. “Whatever you have is mine,” he hissed. “Whatever you do, you do for me. Whatever you have, you have for me. If I give you a child, it will be MINE!” His hands moved to Madara’s shoulders, pressing him down when he wiggled and bucked. 

“Does it make you angry, or sad?” he leered. “If you have a child, does it hurt you to think that I will twist them? That I will turn them into a monster? That I will use them to wreak havoc, and terror, not only in the Land of Fire, but the world?” He leaned down, licking a wet stripe up Madara’s cheek, over the slowly healing marks on his face. 

“Does the amount of power this child will hold scare you? Does the fact that we will be unbeatable frighten you? We don’t have to stop at one. I could force an army out of you, little bird. And you’d have to stand there and watch, helpless and broken, as your offspring burn down the world. That hurts, doesn’t it? After all, you Uchiha are so very driven by family, by love. You’d adore any child you’d have. You’d keep on loving them, protecting them, even if they destroyed everything you hold dear.” 

“Don’t,” Madara whispered, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t say that.” 

“You can’t deny the truth,” Not-Tobirama muttered, moving down to mouth lazily at his neck. “And it scares you, because everything I’ve said is true.” 

“Please, don’t.” 

Not-Tobirama leaned back, evidently surprised at his words, and Madara curled his fingers into fists. The demons gaze bore into him, and still he refused to look. Fingers under his chin turned his head. “Look at me,” the Senju ordered. Reluctantly, Madara opened his eyes, well aware they were glassy. Not-Tobirama brushed his thumb under one of his eyes, gathering a bit of moisture. 

“I still have to perfect the jutsu anyway,” he muttered. “I’ll test it out first, of course. I won’t try it on you until it's absolutely perfect for you, my dear.” His voice was gentle, loving almost. It made him feel even sicker. Madara closed his eyes again as Not-Tobirama’s hands drifted lower, under his legs. The vines loosened enough for the demon to urge his knees to bend and spread, then tightened again, keeping him there. 

“I am still angry with you,” Not-Tobirama muttered. “Don’t think that your pretty teary eyes can save you.” 

Wouldn’t dream of it. 

Fingers prodded at his entrance, and he bit his lip harshly. “But I do so like to see you cry, even if you so stubbornly refuse to...” The fingers entered him harshly, and he bit back a cry, digging his nails into his palms, squirming in his bonds. It wasn’t even remotely nice, like how it was SOMETIMES. No, it hurt. Burned. The fingers twisted and thrust for only a minute or so, before drawing out. The tip of something much bigger, much more painful, took their place. 

Not-Tobirama slid in with a growl, and Madara could feel himself start to bleed again. Hands grabbed his hair again, tilting his head back harshly. Lips and teeth and tongue connected to his neck, marking and biting, as Not-Tobirama started moving, thrusting in and out, merciless. 

Madara focussed on the pain, trying to imagine it was coming from some other source. It was the only thing that could ground him. 

Briefly, dazedly, he wondered if Hashirama was right. 

Was he starting to lose his mind? 

~*~*~

Not-Tobirama was relentless that night. It took three rounds before he was satisfied enough to stop, lazily ordering Madara to go and clean off. Bloody and bruised and hardly able to force himself to move, Madara staggered off to do just that. The water of his shower was cold, icy cold, but he barely felt it. 

As he dried off, he stared at himself in the mirror. Had it really come to this? What had happened to him, to go from one of the greatest shinobi alive to one of the most pathetic? He was weak, trapped in his own home. Why couldn’t he just kill the demon in his room? 

He touched the back of his neck through his hair, which he hadn’t bothered to wash. Because of the seal. Because of the fact that he was so much weaker than the alternate Senju. 

Wait, no. 

No, he couldn’t think that. He had to be patient. He had to bide his time, wait a little longer. Mito was working on it. She’d figure out a way to free him, and everyone else. And then he’d show the demon what power really meant. He had never gotten the chance to unleash all his fury, all his power, on the white haired monster. He grinned, a little madly, at his reflection. 

Oh, how he looked forward to the day when his shackles were cast aside. He’d make the Senju burn, and hurt, and beg for either his life or forgiveness. Madara would give him neither. 

Resolved and reassured, he slipped on a plain black yukata, silently striding back to his room. Not-Tobirama stood by the window, gazing outside. As Madara drew closer, vines surged out of the ground, wrapping around his legs, yanking him down to his knees. More vines curled around his arms, binding his wrists together behind his back, and then to the floor. A few more of the horrid things curled over his thighs, his hips, his shoulders. A thick one around his neck, tight enough that his airway was impeded a little. 

Not-Tobirama turned to him finally, and approached, holding two pieces of cloth in his hands. One had the Senju symbol sewn into it. Not-Tobirama knelt in front of him, taking the black cloth and firmly pressing it through his teeth. He tied it around his head, gagging him once more. The second cloth, the one with the symbol, he looped over his eyes, effectively blinding him. 

“You didn’t think this was over, did you?” the demon asked. Fingers brushed down his neck, wiggling the yukata aside, until it pooled around his waist, leaving his torso bare. Cold steel brushed down his side. 

Madara did his best to stay still, not to move or react, even as the blade worked through the scabs over his back, reopening the whip lashes. He could feel warm blood spilling down his skin once more. The Senju symbol was reopened too. A few more cuts were etched into his sides, his chest, his abs and hips. 

“You will remember, I’m sure, to watch that temper of yours,” Not-Tobirama muttered. “A few hours of pain will help.” The back of his neck itched, then burned, as the seal activated. Flashes of pain coursed down his spine, radiating up to his head, down his legs and arms. Despite himself, he groaned quietly, biting down hard on the gag. 

Not-Tobirama’s hands brushed over his hair. “Let us see how your pain tolerance is, shall we? I have work to do, unfortunately. But you’ll feel my presence, even if I’m not here.” His hand lowered, caressing the seal. “You’ll always feel me.” 

With a slight flare of chakra, Not-Tobirama was gone. Madara squirmed and wiggled, trying to loosen the vines, trying to activate his fire to burn them off, anything. The blasted seal prevented all of his attempts to escape, only increasing the burning pain, somehow sharp and cold and hot all at the same time. 

Madara squeezed his eyes shut under the blindfold, slumping, twisting and flinching whenever the pain grew worse. 

He resigned himself to wait it out. 

~*~*~

Madara was half out of his mind in agony a few hours later when suddenly the gag was ripped out of his mouth, and the blindfold cast away. Dazed, and out of it, he blearily looked up, right into the worried, frantic eyes of one Tobirama Senju. 

His mouth was moving, and Madara stared at him, uncomprehending, his mind slow to catch up to what he was seeing. The Senju’s hands were on him, one moving his hair aside, touching the seal on his neck. The other was pressing against his chest, cool and familiar and...normal. 

The unbearable pain faded significantly to a dull ache. Still there, but not so mind consuming anymore. He stared, not believing what he was seeing. 

“Tobirama?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> Things. Get. Going. 
> 
> (so the barrier seal probably doesn't make sense but i'm way too brain dead to make it more convincing, so...)  
> (also my friend has been nagging at me a little to write/include the whole mpreg thing. Probably won't happen, but I'm nice so i included it)


	19. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobi's back babiesssss

~*~*~

The feeling of walking through the portal was not one Tobirama was keen on repeating anytime soon. It was cold, oppressive, and burning. Like fire had been shoved down his airway and into his lungs, then abruptly turned to ice. It was almost akin to drowning, on nothing. It was utterly bizarre, foreign, unnatural. He supposed it made sense. Portals and dimensional travel wasn’t exactly something normal. Human bodies weren’t made for that. 

Naori, Hikaku, Izuna, and two other Uchiha’s provided him with the fiery power needed to give the portal enough power without it freezing. He had pushed his fingertips through it first, feeling a flare of excitement when it was cool, but not cold. 

He glanced back at his companions. Mito and Shiyana gazed at him with carefully restrained expressions, but he could see the excited delight in the Nara’s dark eyes. Shiyana handed him a stack of papers, which he tucked into his pockets on the inside of his vest. Mito took a few steps closer, and he held out his hand, letting her press a seal into the front of his wrist. It flared brightly, bright blue, and then disappeared under his skin. 

“It will keep you safe,” Mito promised. “As it has kept me safe. You must be careful.” 

“I will be,” he assured, glancing over at Hashirama. The other Senju gazed back at him, his expression serene. “I’ll be back soon,” he added. “I won’t be alone.” 

“We know,” Izuna said with a sheepish smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Just...don’t die okay?” 

‘We’re counting on you’ went unspoken, but he could see it in their eyes. “Have everything ready for me,” he requested. “Mito, you think it’ll work?” 

“I know it will. I’ve had four years to perfect these seals. We Uzumaki are unrivaled when our strength is together.” 

Tobirama smiled. “Good.” 

“Are you sure you can reopen the portal from your side?” Shiyana asked, peering around him at the portal hissing behind him. 

“Madara has enough power to do it himself,” Tobirama replied. “My marker is here and ready for me. It’ll be fine, Shiyana. I don’t leave loose ends.” 

“Well, it was a loose end that brought you here,” Izuna mused. Tobirama sighed. 

“Don’t remind me. I won’t make the mistake again.”

He glanced back at the portal, where Madara’s kitchen waited for him. Why here, of all places? When he reached through the void, seeking one of his markers in his own dimension, why was it this one here that he latched onto? He had left his mark here on a whim, but now it was the thing that led him home. 

How bizarre. 

With a final look back, his fingers brushing over the seal Mito placed on him, he stepped through the portal. 

It closed behind him with a tiny flare of purple. Tobirama stood still for a moment, looking down at his hands, and then at his surroundings. Holy Sage, he was here. He was home. 

He reached out automatically, flaring his senses. Madara was here. 

His chakra was churning, boiling within him, restless and angry, and hurting. 

Without a second thought, Tobirama bounded up the stairs, barrelling down the hall and bursting into the Uchiha leaders room. He froze the moment he entered, hand still on the doorknob. 

Madara Uchiha sat on his knees in the middle of the room, his head bowed, naked from the waist up, pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat and strands of red, red blood, some old, and some persistently leaking out of dozens of cuts littering his body. Vines curled over him, binding his wrists behind his back, keeping him on his knees, winding over his calves, thighs, waist, and neck. Flares of chakra emitted off him, chakra not his own. 

He was gagged and blindfolded, his dark hair a wild mess, caked with blood and sweat. Tobirama crouched in front of him, worried when Madara didn’t so much as flinch. Fingers fumbling, he untied the gag and the blindfold, ripping them off. Madara’s dark eyes were glassy, unfocussed. 

“Madara,” he said urgently, pressing one hand against his chest. His skin was hot, burning, like the fire within was trying to burst out of him. “Madara, you with me? Hey, focus.” 

Madara just stared at him, blearily, uncomprehending. The flare of chakra came again, and he watched Madara quiver, his mouth twisting into a pained grimace. The obedience seal, Tobirama realized. He reached up, brushing the thick, dark mass of hair that fell over the mans shoulders like twin waterfalls, touching the seal on his neck. 

It was like touching a piece of metal that had been sitting in a raging fire. His skin burned at the contact, but he pushed the pain aside, drawing up his chakra and funneling it into the seal. 

It was another link he found he had to other Tobirama. The seal the other had placed, he and Izuna accidentally found out he could also control. It was harder than he liked to admit to control. He had been annoyed with other Izuna at the time. The pest was poking around some of his discarded seals, and Tobirama had been cranky from a lack of success. He had snapped at Izuna to leave them alone, with an irritated flare of chakra. He hadn’t been expecting Izuna to freeze in place, muscles locking for a moment, and then hastily stepping back, bowing his head. 

When they realized what happened, they went to Mito, who confirmed that since he and other Tobirama were essentially the same person, and could use each other's markers, it only made sense that Tobirama could control these seals too. 

The seal on Madara’s neck cooled, and dimmed, but didn’t fade entirely. If other Tobirama was as good a sensor as he was, he’d be able to sense the seal's deactivation. Best to keep it on, just a little. Madara could handle a little bit of discomfort. 

Madara’s eyes cleared as the influence of the seal dimmed. Those dark, dark orbs came to focus, finally seeing him clearly. “Tobirama?” Madara rasped, his voice rough and hoarse and broken. Tobirama winced. 

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. His eyes landed on the scabbing cuts on Madara’s face, and he reached up to touch them. He wasn’t expecting for Madara to flinch violently, jerking away before his fingers could even make contact. His chakra surged suddenly, hot and burning and heavy with suffocating ...fear. He froze, eyes widening. 

“Madara,” he said quietly. Madara stared back at him, eyes wide and...panicked? Then he seemed to realize. His chakra faded back, then flared slightly, extending his senses cautiously, reaching out to him with hesitance. He let his chakra swirl in response, feeling Madara’s brush against his, feeling it in its entirety. Madara’s eyes widened. 

“Oh.” With great effort, he slowly relaxed. Tobirama raised a hand again, making sure Madara could see it, and reached out again. Madara twitched when he made contact, but didn’t move away. 

“What happened to you?” he whispered, eyes moving down from the cuts and bruises on his face to the ones littering his chest, his abdomen. Further investigation had him biting his lip at the horrible lashes all over his back, and his breath caught at the Senju symbol between his shoulder blades. He had lost weight, he noticed distantly. “Why hasn’t Hashirama healed you?” 

“He can’t,” Madara said, shaking his head. “Tobirama...the other one, he forbade it. He tries, sometimes. I don’t let him.” Tobirama frowned, reaching to the vines wrapping around him, starting to cut through them. “Don’t!” 

He stopped, and slowly leaned back. “What?” 

“He’ll be back soon,” Madara whispered. “He’ll be back, and he’ll know you’re here. He probably already knows, Tobirama! He’ll-”

“He doesn’t know,” Tobirama interrupted. “He doesn’t, I promise.” At Madara’s frown, he held out his wrist, pinging his chakra and letting the seal breach his skin, decorating his wrist with a swirl of black and blue lines. “The Mito from the other dimension uses this seal to hide herself from other Tobirama.” 

“He wiped out all the Uzumaki in his world,” Madara said distantly. Tobirama nodded. 

“All but Mito. She’s a seal master, remember? She uses the same seal she gave me. He can’t sense her, can’t find her. I’m invisible to him, too.” Madara inhaled shakily. 

“You have a plan then, it seems?” 

“I do.” 

“Care to enlighten?” 

Tobirama glanced down at him, hesitating. “Soon,” he promised. “You’re not at full strength. And..” He trailed off, prompting Madara to laugh harshly, bitterly. 

“Not in my right mind?” he asked, blowing some hair from his eyes. Tobirama resisted the urge to tuck the stray bangs behind his ear. “I know. Hashirama fears I’m going insane.” Tobirama stayed quiet, and reached for the vines again. Madara leaned away, again. “Don’t. Go, find Hashirama. He’s worried sick, Tobirama.” 

“What about you?” Tobirama protested. Madara shrugged. 

“I’ve faced worse, Tobirama. I will endure this, too.” 

“When can I come back?” Madara pursed his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Not-Tobirama had a routine, before. But now, he’s...changed it. He always used to come to my office, but I can’t leave anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” Tobirama demanded. Madara hesitated. 

“He has a seal on my property. A barrier. I can’t get through it, I can’t break it, nothing. Can you still sense?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Then use that. If you have a plan, get it ready, do it.” 

“I need you for it,” he protested. Madara stared at him for a moment, dark eyes unreadable. 

“Then get it ready. When you get the chance, come and find me.” 

“I don’t want to leave you-”

“Tobirama!” He clamped his mouth shut at the interruption. Madara stared at him, dark eyes narrow. “Just listen to me. After all, I am older, wiser, and prettier.” 

“And smaller, weakier, and pointier,” Tobirama automatically parroted back, recognizing their former, playful banter. Madara smiled, just a little. “Should I...put things back?” 

“It’d be best to avoid suspicion,” Madara agreed, albeit reluctantly. Tobirama pursed his lips, grabbing the gag and blindfold from where he had tossed them aside. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, as Madara opened his mouth, letting him slide the gag back between his teeth, tying it behind his head. Then, the blindfold. Guiltily, a part of him found the image somewhat...appealing. But he much would have preferred it in a different setting. Where they weren’t fighting for normality to return. Where Madara’s skin was warm and flushed and sweaty for entirely different reasons…

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, securing the blindfold and wincing at the Senju symbol sewn into it, arranging it so it faced forward like before. He reached up, touching Madara’s cheek. The Uchiha flinched again, and Tobirama pulled back. “Um…” 

Madara’s chakra flared meaningfully. 

“Right.” He pulled back, extending his senses, locating the mark he had placed on Hashirama. He drew up his chakra, focussing on the mark, and hiashined away. 

~*~*~

Hashirama wasn’t in his office. Well, it made sense. It was like….he glanced at a clock. Oh, 5:52 am. So why wasn’t Hashirama asleep? 

He hirashined right into his brothers living room, and the other man leaped to his feet from where he was sitting forlornly on the couch. His expression twisted, into a snarl, and Tobirama immediately leaped back, hands flying up. 

“Whoa, Anija, it’s me! Normal me, not other me!”

Hashirama froze in the midst of weaving a few hand signs, and squinted at him. His chakra was churning, unsettled, aggressive in a way he had never felt before. He took a few steps back, hands still up, palms facing him. “Tobirama…” Hashirama said slowly. “MY Tobirama?” 

“Yes,” Tobirama breathed. “I swear, it’s me!” 

“How did you get here, then?” Hashirama demanded. “Where is Madara?” 

“Madara’s at his house,” Tobirama soothed, wincing when Hashirama’s chakra spiked. “I got here through a portal!”

“Madara was talking about a portal before,” Hashirama said, suspicious. “How do I know you’re not Alternate Tobirama in hinge, mhm? How do I know you haven’t been messing with Madara’s head? Is THIS how you finally decide to steal my power?” 

“No, no, Anija, I’m serious!” Tobirama said, almost desperately. He should have expected this. WHY had he not thought of this?! Hashirama’s chakra flared again, violently. Vines started sprouting out of the floor, and he stepped back again. “Wait, wait! Don’t stab me with a root, please. Hashirama, for crying out loud, get your head together!” 

Hashirama paused, giving him a look. “Why should I listen to you?” he growled lowly. His chakra swirled a little more, and Tobirama realized something. He was...testing him. 

“Stop swirling your chakra like a madman, he’ll sense that, idiot!” he said, almost harshly, crossing his arms and glaring at him. Best to act the way he usually did, instead of trying to calmly explain. He’d be much more believable that way. “Calm down and listen to me already. Madara’s not okay right now, and WE need to figure out a way to send this other Tobirama back to where he came from and set things back to normal.” 

Hashirama smiled, bright and beaming. “Only my Tobirama would scold me like that!” he cheered, bounding forward. Tobirama stepped back, then groaned, and let Hashirama hug him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. 

“Anija,” he grunted, as Hashirama lifted him off his feet with his enthusiasm. “I can’t breathe.” 

Hashirama ignored him for a second, squeezing harder. Then he put him down, pulling back to squeeze his shoulders. “I missed you,” he said seriously. 

“I missed you too,” he said honestly. Hashirama’s hands tightened. 

“Madara?” 

Tobirama winced. “Not great, honestly. He insisted I come see you right away. You and Mito.” 

Hashirama nodded slowly, picking up on his serious tone. “Mito too, huh? You have a plan, don’t you?” 

“Obviously. When do I not.” 

“What do you need?” 

Tobirama glanced back over his shoulder, out the window behind him. “Time, first off all.” 

~*~*~

The sun was rising when Not-Tobirama strolled back into the room. The seal deactivated, and Madara slumped with relief. Hands pulled off the blindfold and the gag, and he flexed his jaw. The vines and roots all around him receded, and the blood rushed back into his limbs. His fingers tingled uncomfortably. 

He lifted his gaze from the floor, blinking at the light. Not-Tobirama was crouching in front of him, his head tilted, a small smirk on his face. “Heyyy, Madara,” he drawled. “How was your night?” Madara just stared at him, slouching a little further. “I asked you a question,” Not-Tobirama prodded, putting a hand under his chin, tilting his face up. “I’ll say it again. How was your night?” 

Madara swallowed, and licked his lips to wet them. Not-Tobirama’s eyes followed the movement. “Long,” he said roughly. Not-Tobirama’s smirk grew. 

“Enjoyable?” 

“No.” 

“Good.”

His fingers, cold, cold and wrong, wrapped around his biceps, hauling him to his feet. He wobbled unsteady, legs cramped from being force to kneel all night. Not-Tobirama looked amused, holding him steady until he could stand on his own. “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, stepping past him and running the tips of his fingers down his spine. “You know better than to attack me, birdie. So why did you? Mhm?” 

Madara bit his lip. Not-Tobirama’s hands moved to his hips, and tightened meaningfully. “You’re caging me,” he whispered finally, voice still rough. Not-Tobirama hummed. 

“I thought you might be unhappy about it,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “You’re so independent, free spirited. I knew you wouldn’t like having this freedom taken from you. But it’s for the best, you’ll see that soon. If you can’t leave your home, you can never be in danger, you see. If you can’t leave, I don’t have to constantly track where you are. You’ll be safe here. Safe, and contained.” 

Madara’s hands curled into fists. “Does this make you happy?” he hissed. 

“It does,” Not-Tobirama replied, calm and almost patient, like he was speaking to a child. “You must know, Madara. The version of you from my world died because he wouldn’t yield to me. I am taking great care and pains to make sure I don’t kill you here. I’d regret it. So yes, this does make me happy, seeing you slowly bow to my whims, keeping you content under my thumb.” 

He moved in front of him again, tilting his chin up with a few fingers. “I am the happiest I’ve been for a while,” he added. “For many years. I have you to thank for that.” As if to express his twisted gratefulness, Not-Tobirama leaned down, taking his lips in a hungry, demanding kiss. Madara was too tired to fight back or reciprocate. He let Not-Tobirama haul him against him, arms looping around him, hands roughly dragging up his bare, bloodied skin. His fingers lingered over the whip lashes, scabbing over once again, and the dried blood crusted on his skin. 

“Go get cleaned up,” he said, pulling back. He stepped toward the door.

“What are you going to do?” Madara asked immediately, with a brief feeling of panic. Was he going to go to Hashirama? The Hokage Tower? What if he found out about Tobirama? 

Not-Tobirama paused, looking over his shoulder and raising a dark white eyebrow. “What does it matter to you?” 

Shit. Um…. “I...might need a hand with this,” he said quietly, looking away and waving vaguely at his lower back. Not-Tobirama’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer again, hands cupping his face roughly. 

“Who am I to deny my prize?” he muttered, dark gaze flicking down his neck, oddly intent. 

“No funny business,” Madara grumbled, poking his chest. Not-Tobirama just grinned. 

“As you wish.” His hand wrapped around Madara’s wrist, spinning him around and dragging him to the bathroom. Madara followed in a daze, vaguely aware of Not-Tobirama switching on the shower and undressing the two of them. He abruptly came out of it when the ice cold water hit his back. 

“Holy sage, no!” he protested, flinching away. Not-Tobirama’s eyebrows arched. 

“The cold not to your liking?” 

“NO,” Madara hissed, glaring at him. Not-Tobirama rolled his eyes, but adjusted the temperature, reaching out and yanking him back under the water's spray. Madara growled and scowled as the water gradually warmed to a somewhat acceptable level. Not-Tobirama turned him, so his back was to him. The water seeped through his dark strands, weighing them down heavily. 

He felt Not-Tobirama’s hands move through his hair, soaping it, washing it. If he really, really tried, he could almost imagine himself enjoying it. As it was, he was tense as a coiled snake, ready to strike or spring away. 

Not-Tobirama ignored his unease, rinsing his hair out again, flipping it over his shoulder. His hands moved down his back, washing the blood from his skin with little gentleness. The moment the demon deemed him clean, he yanked him out of the shower, tossing a towel at him. Madara scowled, baring his teeth just a little when Not-Tobirama started to ruffle his hair dry. 

Not-Tobirama chuckled, apparently amused by his little bit of defiance, but left him to dry off and dress in peace, slipping out of the bathroom. Madara took his time, raking his fingers through his tangled hair in a vain attempt to somewhat tame it. He gave up very quickly, instead patting dry the cuts on his face. With how much they’d been reopened and abused, they’d definitely scar visibility. He had hoped they would eventually fade with time once they healed. But even time wouldn’t be able to hide these anymore. 

With a sigh, he slipped on a soft yukata, wincing when the fabric brushed against the sensitive cuts over his body. When he padded back to his room, Not-Tobirama was sitting on the little used couch against the wall, dark eyes flitting over the words of one of Madara’s books. 

“Tired?” he asked, not looking up. It was only when Madara didn’t answer that he did, narrowing his eyes a little at him. “Come here,” he ordered, setting the book aside. Madara hesitated for a moment, then obediently approached when his gaze hardened with impatience. 

Not-Tobirama grabbed the belt of his yukata, tugging insistently and pulling Madara onto him, straddling his lap. He kept on pulling and tugging and rearranging, until Madara was slumped against his chest, face buried in the crock of his neck and shoulder, arms loosely wound around his body. 

The demon's arms wrapped around him, clasping behind his back. Madara could hear his heartbeat, feel his pulse just beneath his cheek. A chin settled against the top of his head, and he felt the Senju reach out, grabbing the book again and flipping it open. “Go to sleep,” Not-Tobirama ordered. One of his hands reached up, moving forward, and two fingers pressed against his forehead. 

Without a word or an ounce of protest, the surge of chakra sent Madara spiraling into unconsciousness. He drifted off to sleep unwillingly, with the demon's hand possessively stroking the seal on his neck. 

~*~*~

Mito sipped her tea delicately, her eyes never leaving the papers spread out over the table. “Of course the version of me from another world would come up with something so genius,” she commented. Tobirama sighed, heavily. 

“She had help. Shiyana and Izuna and myself…” 

Mito just hummed, clearly not listening. Hashirama handed Tobirama a cup of tea, and he took it gratefully, wrapping his cool fingers around the mug. Mito continued going through the papers Tobirama brought back with him, making a soft sound of interest every now and then. 

“So, has it worked?” Mito asked finally, and Tobirama hesitated. 

“Well, no….We haven’t tried it yet. The other version of Mito wanted you to go over it, just in case she….missed something.” 

“Why would she miss something? She is me, she wouldn’t.” 

Well, at least she was confident. “Other Mito was sure it would work. Your opinion?” 

Mito finally looked up, and smiled. “It’ll work. Go find me a test subject.” 

Tobirama considered for a moment. “Izuna,” he said. Hashirama quickly shook his head. 

“No, not yet. Someone else. Someone other Tobirama won’t miss. He uses Izuna far too much to manipulate Madara. He’d notice right away.” His older brother stood, and started to pace. “But someone else from the Senju clan could work. Not as many of us are sealed compared to other clans.” 

Tobirama hummed thoughtfully. “And,” Hashirama added, with a slightly guilty expression. “It might be best if you stayed out of sight for a while, otouto. This twisted version of you….he’s hurt a lot of people here. We should play it safe, for now. And if Not-Tobirama catches wind of you being here, well… Things could go sideways very quickly.” 

Tobirama pursed his lips. His older brother had a point. It would take time for this to work, and he needed Madara rested and ready to act. Hashirama, too. “Fair point. Go take a nap.” 

Hashirama stared at him. “What?” 

“Go, rest up a bit,” Tobirama said instantly, pushing off the desk he was perched on and pushing his brothers shoulders insistently. “I need you rested and at full strength. So, go do that.” 

“Tobirama, I need to stay here and-”

“No, he’s right,” Mito broke in, folding her hands elegantly in her sleeves and staring at her husband. “You could all be in for a nasty fight. You haven’t been sleeping well lately. Go, and rest. I will handle things here with Tobirama.” 

Hashirama fretted and protested for a few more minutes, but eventually caved to their demands. As he plodded up the stairs, slow and loud to show his displeasure like a child throwing a temper tantrum, Mito gave him a long, considering look. Tobirama stared back briefly. 

“What?” he asked, moving to shuffle the papers into a pile. Mito’s lips twitched. 

“”It’s good to have you back, Tobirama. We’ve missed you.” 

Tobirama paused, fiddling with the edge of the paper anxiously. “I’m glad to be here,” he replied. Mito’s mouth finally turned up to a tiny smile. 

“I think it’s very noble, and honourable of you to go back again. It’s the right thing to do.” 

“It’s the safe thing,” he said absentmindedly. “If we just sent him back, who's to say he won’t find his way here again? I did it, surely he can too.” 

Mito looked amused, not at all fooled by his deflection. “Logical, yes. But also right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just what has Alt!Mito cooked up, mhmmmm?


	20. Le Grand Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this ended up being so long. So much for my six chapter plan, originally.

~*~*~

An idea had Tobirama bolting down the stairs, and all but slamming a few papers down on the desk in front of Mito. “If we use this seal to affect this seal, could we activate its effects at a specific time?” 

Mito looked up, slowly, and stared at him. “Care to reiterate that?” 

Tobirama huffed impatiently. “The seal that other Mito created,” he explained, exasperated. “What if, instead of dispersing it one by one and having it act on its own, what if we place the seal on everyone first, and THEN activate it. That way we avoid detection from the other...me.” 

Mito glanced down at the paper he had shoved closest to her. It was a copy of the time seal that Tobirama had used to get back home. “You want to hold off the seal's activation until after they’ve ALL been put in place,” she summarized, and Tobirama nodded. “It’s a good idea. That way Not-Tobirama will be completely in the dark. There’d be no way for him to act out to stop us. It’s brilliant, Tobirama!” 

“But will it work?” he asked, eyeing the seal other Mito had devised. Mito snorted. 

“Of course. Stop being so doubting.” Her tone turned scolding, and Tobirama held up his hands apologetically. 

“Great. How long to blend the seals?” 

Mito glanced down again. “A minute or two. Go get me some Senju.” 

~*~*~

Toka nearly cut off his head when he knocked on her door. As it was, it was only his lightning quick reflexes that saved his cranium from separating from his torso. He kept some distance between them, raising his hands. 

“Toka, it’s me. It’s not the other version of me, I promise.” 

His fierce cousin glowered at him, a kunai in each hand. “I’ve heard this one before,” she hissed. 

“I can’t use wood style,” Tobirama promised, weaving through a few signs he knew Hashirama commonly used and flaring his chakra. Nothing happened. 

Toka relaxed. Bless this sensible woman. “You look like yourself,” she said slowly. Does that mean that other Tobirama didn’t look like him, then? Strange. “And you’ve never been very good at hinge. It’s really you, cousin?” 

“It is.” The blades disappeared from her hands, and then her arms were around his neck. 

“You’re back,” she whispered. Tobirama’s arms came up slowly, patting her rather awkwardly on the back. 

“Yeah. I am. Toka?” She hummed quietly to signify she was listening, then stepped away. “Can I trust you with something?” 

“Of course. What is it?” 

“I need you to bring all the Senju who are sealed to Hashirama’s. We have a way to counter the effects of the obedience seal.” 

“You mean we can be free of this thing?!” Toka demanded excitedly. Tobirama nodded, and Toka’s hand touched the back of her neck. “Good. I hate this thing.” 

“Has he used it on you?” Tobirama asked quietly, worriedly. Toka nodded, her face twisted into a grimace. 

“I almost killed a Hyuuga child, Tobirama,” she said quietly. “Right in front of her parents, who could do nothing but stand and watch, quietly.” 

“Why did he want you to do that?” 

“I don’t know. No one did anything. We just all happened to be in the area at the time, and he just….” She pinched the top of her nose, and sighed. “He exercises his power in the worst ways.” 

“I see.” Toka’s revelation didn’t sit well with him. “Can I rely on you to be the one to organize the Senju to get their seals taken care of?” 

Toka’s expression harded. “Yes. I’ll be over with the first few soon. I’ll take only a few at a time, avoid suspicion just in case he’s hanging around.” 

Tobirama grimaced. Just before coming to see Toka, he had reached out, sensing Madara, still in his home, his chakra now lighter, not tainted with pain. Another was with him. At first, Tobirama was surprised at how familiar it felt, almost like his own. The impression of that only lasted for a second or two. Then he caught the under current of ice, of darkness, of twisted life and power. It was suffocating, choking, and Tobirama had quickly withdrawn. 

“Other Tobirama is a little...busy, right now,” he said slowly. Understanding dawned very quickly on Toka’s face, and it made him uneasy. 

“Madara,” she said knowingly. Tobirama winced, but nodded. She sighed softly. “He’s….We own him a lot.” 

“So I’ve heard,” he said grimly. “Be there in half an hour.” 

~*~*~

True to her word, Toka was at Hashirama’s before 30 minutes were even over, with over a dozen members of the Senju clan. Most of them did a very noticeable double take when they saw him. All of them immediately tensed, some reaching for their weapons, others touching the backs of their necks with a worried expression, as though they feared the seal would activate. 

“It’s okay!” Hashirama said cheerfully, herding them further inside. “It’s normal Tobi again! He found his way back home and has a way to get those seals off of everyone!” 

“How do we know this isn’t a trick?” one of the Senju asked suspiciously. 

“He does look normal,” another said thoughtfully. 

“It could be a trick,” a teenager whispered. 

Tobirama tried not to let their fear and suspicion get to him. “I understand your concern, but we don’t have time to debate,” he said, stepping around the desk Mito sat at, idly flipping through the papers. “We have an entire village to get to, so we can’t waste time discussing this.” 

“Well, it sounds like normal Tobirama, kinda bossy as usual,” the second Senju commented. He was a tall, narrow shouldered man with messy, shoulder length hair. “At this point, I’m ready to believe anything that sounds good.” 

“What do we need?” Toka asked, striding closer and stopping beside him. Tobirama was grateful for her wordless support, her silent confirmation. 

Mito held up a paper, with a drawing of the two seals on it, overlapping each other: Tobirama’s time seal, and other Mito’s severing seal. “This seal was developed by the me from the other world. Tobirama took it back with him. I’ve been studying it, examining it, and I can confirm that it will work. There’s also a time seal on it. Once everyone has it on them, we will activate the severing seal. Waiting to activate it will help us avoid detection. Any questions?” 

None of the Senju said a word. She was an intimidating woman, and she sounded fierce today. She left no room for argument. “Give it to me,” Toka volunteered. 

“Good. Come here.” Mito waved Toka forward, pointing to a chair. Toka sat obediently, and Mito nudged her head down, pushing her hair aside to reveal the back of her neck. “You may feel a slight pinch,” Mito warned, picking up the paper. With a brief flash of blue, the seal rippled off the paper, and flowed onto Mito’s palm. 

Then, the Uzumaki pressed it against Toka’s neck. The other woman jerked a little at the contact, but otherwise remained still and silent. It only took a few seconds, and then Mito was stepping back. 

A black and blue seal swirled on Toka’s nape, then faded quickly under her skin. Toka reached up, scratching at her neck. “Well, that was rather anticlimactic,” she said, standing up. “I almost feel disappointed.” 

“Did you expect something painful?” Tobirama asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I expected something more, that’s for sure,” she replied, and nudged the next Senju to sit. “When will you activate the seal?” 

“Once everyone has it,” Tobirama replied. “You’ll know when it comes into effect.” 

Toka nodded, pausing beside him. “I’ll bring in the next group once all these ones are done.” 

“Good. Once all the Senju are done, move onto the next clan. We should do the Uchiha last.” 

“Smart. Other Tobirama seems to hold them under his grasp a lot more tightly.” 

“He’ll be paying much closer attention to them. He enslaved them in his world.” 

“And he uses them to manipulate Madara a lot.” That had Tobirama pausing, raising an eyebrow. 

“Doesn’t Madara have a seal too?” 

Toka sighed, her expression turning dark. “Yes, he does. But other Tobirama doesn’t use it as often. He prefers to force Madara to yield by choice, manipulating and blackmailing him. Either he listens, or other Tobirama has others, particularly Izuna and other Uchiha, do something horrible to themselves or each other. I’ve watched Izuna nearly kill himself over a dozen times, just so other Tobirama can watch Madara fold.” 

Tobirama pursed his lips, and resolutely watched Mito place her new seal on all the Senju gathered. While he could hardly imagine Madara willingly giving up, he knew it made sense. Madara may try to seem brash and offensive and cold, but there were few out there who cared as deeply as the Uchiha clan head. He loved and protected with something fierce. Woe be to those who harmed his own. 

“With luck, we can have everyone given the new seal soon.” 

“And Madara?” 

Tobirama sighed heavily, briefly flaring his chakra, extending his senses again. The Uchiha was still home, still with other Tobirama. “We may have to save him for last.” 

Which was very much not ideal. His entire plan rode on Madara. If he couldn’t fulfill his part…. Well, Tobirama didn’t even want to think about how royally screwed they would be. 

~*~*~

When Madara woke, mind foggy and hazy, he stared rather uncomprehendingly at the Tobirama sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him with furrowed eyebrows. For a long moment, he couldn’t tell which one it was. It was only after his chakra reached out, tentatively brushing against the others, that he knew. That familiar, comforting, cool and familiar and reassuring and grounding chakra. 

He groaned, pressing his face into the pillow for a moment, and then sitting up. “What doing?” he mumbled inelegantly, his mind still unhappy about having to wake up. Tobirama raised an eyebrow. 

“I was going to wake you,” he said, crossing his legs at the knees. “But I thought you might need your rest.” 

“So you sat here and watched me sleep.” 

Tobirama looked a little embarrassed. “Well. Yeah, I guess I did.” 

Madara shook his head, coming a little more awake. “Where’s Not-Tobirama?” 

“Is that how you’ve been referring to him?” Tobirama asked curiously. Madara narrowed his eyes. “He’s in...my lab,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “He left about two hours ago.” 

“So you’ve been here for how long, then?” 

“As soon as he left.” 

“You’ve been watching me sleep for two hours?” 

Much to his surprise, Tobirama flushed a little, a bit of pinkness decorating his pale skin, and he looked away. “Well. Yes.” 

“That’s kind of creepy, Tobirama,” Madara said, amused. Tobirama’s presence, his normal, regular presence, was so soothing it took him by surprise. He felt so much more relaxed than he had in weeks. 

“Would you have preferred I just woke you up?” Tobirama demanded, a little flustered. Madara hummed, only now realising he was in bed, tucked under some blankets. Not-Tobirama must have dumped him here before taking off. “It’s almost dusk,” Tobirama said, waving outside. 

“Mhm… You’ve seen your brother?” 

“Yes. Everything is in order.” 

“Everything being?” 

Tobirama pursed his lips for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you for a bit,” he admitted. Before Madara could flare up indignantly, he went on. “Other...or Not-Tobirama could force you to tell him if he found out before we began. But you have an integral role, so it’s not fair to leave you in the dark.” 

“Your big plan?” Madara asked, raising an eyebrow. Tobirama nodded. 

“I managed to open the portal here by converting heat into energy, and using that to power the portal, which reaches through time, space, and matter. I used the marker I left in your kitchen to guide myself back. I’ve also left a mark in the other world.”

“For what purpose?” 

“The portal doesn’t work the same way our original jutsu does,” Tobirama explained. “If it had, he and I would have simply swapped places. But, since it didn’t, I left my mark there so I can open another portal and send him back to where he belongs.” 

Madara frowned at him. Tobirama wasn’t telling him the whole story. “Spit it out, Senju,” he said firmly. “What then?” 

Tobirama tapped his fingers anxiously. “The Uchiha in his world were blinded, and their chakra locked away,” he said, almost distantly. “Mito and Hashirama and Shiyana and I found a way to give them back their sight and powers. The Uchiha, along with various other clans, are planning a coup d-etat.” 

“Doesn’t he have seals on them?” Madara frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. “He’d just order them to stop. Or kill themselves and save him the effort.” 

“He...did.” 

Madara sat up even straighter. “Did? As in, formerly?” 

Tobirama nodded, his expression almost earnest. “The Mito from that world created a seal to counter the obedience seal. After all, it’s originally an Uzumaki seal, just a little...twisted. And vile. Anyways, she found out how to sever it. Everyone back in the other Konoha is getting it right now, and so is this Konoha.” 

At first, Madara stared at him, disbelieving. They found a way to counter the obedience seal? The same thing that made their lives horrible? “Are you serious?” he asked, so softly it was almost a whisper. 

Tobirama nodded again, his fingers twitching the way they often did when he was excited and trying not to show it. “I’d give you the cure seal myself right now, but I’m not very good at seals. I’ve been relying on the Mito’s from both worlds to help me with them.” 

“It’d be best to wait,” Madara agreed, somewhat reluctantly. Not-Tobirama would know immediately if the seal on him was nullified. And then Tobirama’s plan would go flying out the window. “So, why are you here, then?” 

“I wanted to see how you were holding up,” Tobirama admitted, glancing away. “I need you for all this. The portal is designed to work using heat, fire, as a power source. In the other world, I needed 5 Uchiha to power it. But you should be able to power it alone. We’ll have to be fast, and decisive when it comes to it. So, I need you to have your strength.” 

Madara hummed, considering his words. “Okay, so I power the portal, you make it. Then we shove Not-Tobirama through. What then?” 

“Then we follow.” Madara raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. “In exchange for their help in getting me back, I promised to assist other Konoha in overthrowing Not-Tobirama. But, from what I hear, I won’t be able to beat him alone.” 

“Ah,” Madara mused, realizing. “Who are you planning to take?” 

“You, Hashirama, and Mito. I don’t want to bring anymore than that.” 

“Why can’t we just kill him here? Instead of pushing him back to his world and then doing it?” 

“The citizens of other Konoha want revenge. Think of it as a favour to them.” 

“How kind of you.” Madara pushed the sheets off his legs, slowly swinging his feet off the bed and gingerly standing. The scabs on his back cracked in protest to his movement. “When do we act?” 

“Once everyone has the seal. I want to say we’re about a quarter of the way through the village. Once everyone has it, we’ll activate them all at the same time, and free them all at once. That way, Not-Tobirama can do nothing against it. He won’t be able to stop it, or control anyone. And unfortunately, we have to save you for last.” 

Madara shrugged, wandering off to his closet and finding something else to wear. His yukata had dried blood on it, and the scabs were making it stick to his skin. “I hate to ask this,” Tobirama said quietly, as he shrugged on one of his favorite dark mantles, at once feeling at ease as the high collar brushed his cheeks. “I need you to keep Not-Tobirama busy. Distracted. I don’t want him to notice Mito’s work. All of the Senju have been given the severing seal. Mito is going around to give everyone else their seals to prevent suspicion. He’d surely notice something if groups of different clan members kept entering the Senju precinct.” 

“Distract him?” Madara echoed, pausing in the midst of straightening his long mantle. “I can do that.” 

“Do you know how you will?” Tobirama asked immediately. Madara turned to face him, raking his fingers through his knotted hair. 

“There are a lot of different ways to occupy his attention.” 

“But at what cost?” he asked, even softer. Madara looked away. 

“There’s no more that I can lose, Tobirama. Come back when you’re ready. I’ll get Not-Tobirama over here.” He glanced back over his shoulder, meeting his gaze briefly. Tobirama’s familiar red eyes stared back. His gaze was so much lighter, less weighted than his counterparts. His hair was lighter too, more spiky, softer. Briefly, Madara wondered how much softer it would be, if he ran his fingers through it. 

He looked away as soon as the thought crossed his mind. “Go, Tobirama. You need your strength too.” 

~*~*~

He waited a few hours before acting, to give Tobirama and Mito more time. It didn’t take much to attract Not-Tobirama’s attention. A few angry flares of chakra, some pushing against the barrier around his house. He was in the kitchen, glaring at the counter where the marker was, when Not-Tobirama hirashined in, his expression amused. 

“Finally awake, I see,” he noted. “Something on your mind?” 

“I want out,” he declared, waving his hand meaningfully. Not-Tobirama just smiled. 

“No.” 

“You can’t keep me cooped up here forever!” 

“I can, and I will.” Not-Tobirama strolled towards him like he hadn’t a care in the world, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back, until he touched the wall behind him. “You don’t have a choice here, Madara. Besides, if you’re stuck here, you can’t go out and about and do something to make me angry. And that way, no one has to get hurt because of you, mhm?” 

He trailed his fingers over Madara’s cheek, tracing one of the marks he had etched into his skin. “Isn’t that right, Madara?” 

Madara scowled. “So, what then? You’re just going to keep me here, and just exist for whenever you want me?” 

“Yes.” 

He pursed his lips. By now, Tobirama and Mito must almost be done. Which left only the Uchiha’s left. Which further meant that he had to get Not-Tobirama away from here and distract him a bit. 

“Senju,” he said slowly, quietly, tilting his head back to look him in the eye. “If this is what you want from me, fine.” Not-Tobirama’s eyes lit up with excited victory. “But if you want to keep me this way, you have to give me some leeway. If you don’t want me to go out alone, okay. But if you’re with me, then can I go?” 

“Where do you want to go?” 

Could it be….? 

“The market, preferably before it closes.” The hour was late, but the market would be open a bit longer still. There wouldn’t be many people around. “If you want me to stay here, you’re going to have to let me go out and get some things every now and then. You don’t want me to starve, I presume.” 

“I can get you whatever you need.” 

“I’m a picky eater. I like choosing my own things.”

Not-Tobirama sighed, and rolled his eyes. “You’re such a brat. Fine, whatever. Let’s go.” 

“The barrier?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head.” He grabbed Madara’s wrist, and marched him out the door. His chakra flared briefly, and the barrier rippled, wavered, and folded into itself, leaving a slender doorway. 

Not-Tobirama guided him through, and Madara followed behind him quietly. The demon growled and muttered to himself, but Madara had the suspicion he wasn’t really all that mad. It didn’t take long to reach the market, which became deathly quiet at their arrival. Shinobi and civilians alike quickly made themselves scarce at the sight of Not-Tobirama. A few of the vendors quickly closed up shop. A few of the braver ones stayed open, eyes shifting to wary and fearful to compassionate. 

Madara paused in the middle of the market, glancing around to make it look like he was actually looking at stuff. He wandered around slowly, and Not-Tobirama shadowed him silently. When Madara spent almost 10 minutes contemplating some apples, he sighed heavily. 

“Just pick some and be done with it,” he growled irritably. 

“I already told you, I’m picky,” Madara said absentmindedly, turning away from the apples to pitter patter slowly to another stand. The vendor gave him a tiny, sympathetic smile, tight lipped, but there. 

“Good evening, Madara-sama,” she said. Brave woman. “Anything to your fancy?” 

“With luck,” he said, casting a critical eye over a number of fuzzy peaches. She smiled, glancing over at Not-Tobirama, and slowly reached up to touch the back of her neck. The demon Senju wasn’t looking, and she caught Madara’s eye, and winked. 

VERY brave woman. Madara had to be impressed. “Have you tried the latest shipment?” the woman went on. Madara narrowed his eyes, just a little. 

“No. They any good?” 

“Fabulous. Why don’t you come back with me and take a look?” 

Madara glanced back at Not-Tobirama. The demon wasn’t paying them any attention, watching the shinobi nearby give them a wide berth with amusement. The woman raised an expectant eyebrow, meaningfully. “Sure,” he agreed. She waved him forward, and he stepped around the side of the stall. 

She led him around a large stack of wood boxes, then turned to him, leaning right up to him. “Mito is in the Uchiha district right now,” she said in a whisper, her breath warm against his ear. 

“Toka,” he realized. “Nice henge. Chakra suppressant seal?” 

“Same as the one Tobirama is wearing right now.” 

“Clever. How do you know?” 

“I’m linked to Kenara Yamanaka. She’s with Mito and Tobirama right now.” 

“Their progress?” 

Toka turned, opening a box, and handing him a peach. He took it, rolling it around in his hands. “Ah. They’re almost halfway done with the Uchiha clan. Izuna has just been given the severing seal.” 

Her words sent a tidal wave of relief washing over him. Izuna was safe. His little brother, he was free. Not-Tobirama couldn’t manipulate him anymore, couldn’t control him. “How much longer?” he asked, a little breathlessly. Toka leaned over, grabbing a mesh bag, filling it with peaches. She was quiet for a little bit, relaying the question to Kenara, and Kenara to Mito. 

“Can you distract him for half an hour?” Toka asked, hanging him the bag. 

“Never make my life easy,” Madara sighed, taking it. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do. He’s getting impatient, but I can claim I have a few more stops.” 

“Be careful,” she said quietly. Then she was back and smiling brightly, leading him back up front. “I hope you enjoy the peaches!” she said brightly. 

“I’m sure they’ll be lovely,” he replied. Not-Tobirama turned to them with a scowl. 

“And don’t worry about the cost. Consider them a gift, Madara-sama!” Toka really was good at acting. Kudos to her. 

“Are you done?” Not-Tobirama demanded, crankily. Madara gave him a look. 

“No. I’m assuming you won't be too keen on taking me out very often, so forgive me for wanting to stock up a little.” With that, he strolled off to the next vendor. The man who ran the stall gave him a knowing look, and Madara wondered, briefly, if all the remaining vendors were actually in on Tobirama’s plan. 

“Could I tempt you with some fresh raspberries, Madara-sama?” he asked, with a disarming smile. “Picked just this morning from the forests!” 

“You could,” Madara replied, veering off toward him to inspect his wares. Not-Tobirama sighed, loudly, behind him. 

Madara took his time, carefully selecting each and every raspberry the vendor placed in a basket for him. The entire process took over 10 minutes. Not-Tobirama was very obviously losing his patience. The vendor gave him a compassionate smile, and underneath it was just a hint of mischief. 

“You should go see Hiari’s stand,” he encouraged. “She just went out this afternoon. Has some of those floral tea leaves you’re so fond of.” 

“I’ll do that,” he agreed, taking the pack of raspberries. 

“No charge,” the vendor said cheerfully, and waved him off toward Hiari. She was obviously expecting him. 

“Evening, Madara-sama,” Hiari greeted. “Come for a refill?” 

“Per usual,” he said easily. Hiari smiled. 

“Would you like to taste a few samples before making your choice?” she asked. “I don’t think it’ll take too long….” 

“Sure, Hiari.” She smiled, and pulled out a few small cups. Then she busied herself by filling a kettle with water, setting it over an old fashioned stove. 

“Now, where did I put my lighter,” she muttered, moving some things around with a frown. Madara raised an eyebrow, snapping his fingers and directing a small steam of fire under the kettle, lightning the fire beneath it. “Ah, thank you,” she said brightly. Ducking under the counter, she placed several small pots, filled to the brim with leaves, on the counter. 

She rattled off the names of the different teas, their composition, where they came from, what they tasted like. Once the water reached near boiling, she poured some into all of the cups, pushing them toward him. 

He sampled all the teas, slowly and carefully. Not-Tobirama had wandered off a few paces to glare at everyone he saw, his chakra spiking and churning. As Hiari rambled on, he caught sight of Toka coming around her stand, still in her disguise. She nodded slowly, meaningfully. 

“I like this one,” he said, pointing to the third drink. 

“I’ll pack some up for you,” Hiari said with a smile. Madara watched her scoop out some of the tea mix, and handed him a small container of it. “Free of charge, of course.” 

“Thanks,” he said with a dry, shallow smile. “Best make yourself scarce,” he added in an undertone. 

“Of course. Have a...pleasant night, Madara-sama.” 

“You as well, Hiari.” He turned away, and slowly strode back to Not-Tobirama. 

“Are you done now?” the demon hissed, the look on his face frightfully impatient. 

“Almost. Just one more….” Not-Tobirama glared, but he turned around anyways, heading to no particular stall. Toka watched him, and he caught her eye. She glanced over to the right, and he followed her gaze. 

Familiar red eyes met his. Moments later, the Senju was at his side, with the red haired Uzumaki right beside him. A cool hand pressed against the back of his neck, and he felt a stab of something cold, frosty, and sharp course through him. Then, the seal actually activated with a blazing warmth overtaking the chill. The few people who were still around obviously felt the activation too, if their reactions were anything to judge by. Then, Tobirama’s hand was wrapping around his shoulders, and he hirashined them away. 

They reappeared only on the other side of the marketplace. Oh, to get them out of close range, Madara realized. Hashirama appeared out of nowhere next to Madara, his expression grim, and dark. 

Across from them, Not-Tobirama’s chakra burned with icy fury. Madara had felt fear when facing him before, but his glare, the absolute wrath in his chakra, had him instinctively stepping back, drawing his own chakra closer to him.

“You,” the demon seethed, his voice a dark hiss. “I knew you’d come one day, little pest. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” 

Ice crawled over his hands, creeping further up his arms. The ground split and broke beneath his feet, and vines, black as night, surged up around him. 

“I hope you’re all ready,” Hashirama muttered. 

“This could get ugly,” Tobirama agreed. His chakra flared, cool and watery. 

It was strange, Madara thought distantly, to let his own chakra flare and to erupt into flame, and not worry about agonizing pain seizing him, or having to worry about Izuna or a clan member or anyone in the village pulling a knife on themselves. 

He glanced over at Tobirama, from the corner of his eye. The white haired man caught his eye, for just a moment. Then he smiled; small and faint, but there. He stared at him for a moment. 

Then he found himself smiling back. Despite the oncoming hellstorm raging towards them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just like the idea of Madara making Not-Tobirama wait on him like an exasperated partner. So, yeah he's awful and all, but he does want Madara to like, live. Hence why he's not just dragging him back home right away. 
> 
> Madara would 100% be picky and stingy and you cannot change my mind.
> 
> Also I love Toka


	21. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We throwing down

~*~*~

Fighting Not-Tobirama, when the demon wasn’t holding back, was like fighting a deranged Hashirama and Tobirama, blended into some horrible monstrosity. Which, he supposed, was accurate. 

Madara ducked under a sharp vine, edged with razor blades of ice. Lifting his hands, he burned the vine away, evaporating the ice, and springing back to Hashirama’s side. The oldest Senju was scowling something fierce, his hands clasped, chakra flaring and spiking and aggressive. 

Mito came flying down from nowhere, tossing whatever it was she was holding in her hands at Not-Tobirama’s feet. Normal Tobirama immediately followed up with a massive water dragon, curling it around Not-Tobirama. The demon turned, touching the dragons side, turning it to ice, and shattering it to pieces. 

With a frown, Tobirama fell back again, letting Mito distract Not-Tobirama with a barrage of exploding tags. “He’s better than I worried he’d be,” he grumbled. Madara frowned, feeling the fire all over him lick a little tighter around him, burn a little hotter. 

“Hashirama,” he said, watching the vines he sent after Not-Tobirama turn to ice and shatter. “Can you get close?” 

Hashirama looked frustrated. “He has just as much power with the Mokuton as me,” he muttered angrily. “He can use it, and his water style, in perfect synch.” 

“Noted,” Tobirama said dryly. “Mito has him distracted.” 

“Right!” Hashirama’s hands moved, and more vines arched up, swirling up behind the furious demon. A few managed to wrap around him, only for them to turn to ice and shatter. Mito sent another volley of exploding tags after him, and he cast a water wall up in front of him to protect himself. 

“Tobirama, we have to hurry!” Madara hissed. “We’re destroying the place!” 

“I know,” Tobirama grunted, casting a quick look around. The marketplace was in shambles already, and they’d only been fighting for a few minutes. “Push him back with Hashirama and Mito, and then we’ll open a portal.” 

“Got it.” Madara straightened, weaving through a few hands signs. As he did, he sprinted forwards. “Fire Style: Fire Whirlwind!” 

Fire erupted out of his body in even greater amounts, spiraling all around him, then surging into his hands, violent and hot, blasting away from him and surging towards the demon. Not-Tobirama saw him coming, dodging a seal thrown by Mito. Water started to gather in his hands, but Madara’s whirlwind caught him too quickly. The spiral crashed into him, throwing him off his feet and into the air. 

Originally, the Fire Whirlwind was supposed to burn someone to ashes. The flames went out abruptly, as water exploded out of Not-Tobirama, waving out from him. Not-Tobirama landed hard, his face twisted into a furious scowl. A twisted mess of vines burst from the ground at his feet, forcing him to leap back to avoid being impaled. 

“Madara, now!” Tobirama hollered. Madara spun about, abandoning the fireball he was about to spit out, redirecting his chakra to his hands. 

“Hope you’re ready, Tobirama,” he muttered, aiming at the Senju. Fire poured out of his hands like twin rivers, red and orange, hot and uncontrollable. Tobirama faced him, holding up his hands. Chakra emitted out of him, leaking from his body like mist. 

Madara watched, fascinated, as he channeled Madara’s fire. The flames turned blue, and funneled into Tobirama’s hands. Madara’s Sharingan swirled, watching him suppress and convert the fire into energy, cooling it as it ran through him. Then, the Senju crouched, slamming his palm on the ground. Even at the distance, Madara could see the black lines of the seal move from his hand, curling around into a simple design on the ground. The moment it was in place, Tobirama stood, hands flying through a complicated sequence of signs. 

Chakra leaked out of him in even greater amounts, cool and refreshing, swirling around him like a miniature hurricane. The air grew cold, and with a ripple of chakra and a flurry of sparks, a portal opened, black and void and swirling. 

Tobirama lowered his hands, turning about. “Let’s go, Madara!” he called, charging towards Not-Tobirama, who was facing off against Hashirama and Mito. Madara bolted after him, hands moving through a sequence of signs. 

He spat out another fireball, incinerating the torrent of vines Not-Tobirama sent towards Mito, who was recovering her balance. She sent him a grateful look, springing back to gain some space. She reached into her pockets, pulling out two seal tags, and tossing them towards the demon. She looked tired. Not-Tobirama blocked with a wall of vines, and they detonated harmlessly. But the distraction worked. 

Madara burned a hole in the wall, and Tobirama blazed up with a swell of water all around him, bursting through the gap. Water covered around his hand and arm like a glove, amplifying his strength. 

He drove Not-Tobirama back, with a flurry of strikes and clever uses of water. Hashirama assisted, vines running alongside the spikes of water. Not-Tobirama scowled something fierce, a sword of ice in each hand, batting aside their strikes, but not able to counter with his own. 

Madara joined up with Mito. The red haired Uzumaki was breathing hard, but her face was determined. “Let’s go, Uzumaki,” he said, steadying her with one hand. She wiped her mouth, and nodded. Satisfied, Madara let go. Steadily, Tobirama and Hashirama drove Not-Tobirama back, closer and closer to the portal swirling behind him. 

But Not-Tobirama was still frightfully smart, and caught onto their intentions swiftly. His black and red eyes gleamed with hateful excitement. “Is this your grand plan?” he jeered. “You want to send me back to my world, is that it? Try as you might, I’ll always just come back!” 

His gaze landed on Madara, and his grin sharpened. “Madara, be a good bird and kill the Uzumaki beside you.”

Madara smiled. Not-Tobirama had been too distracted to notice the severing seal over the obedience seal. Not-Tobirama’s glare darkened. 

“Do you not hear me?!” he roared, hands lifting and forming a few hand signs. Madara recognized them, grabbing Mito and yanking her out of the way as a water dragon surged up from beneath their feet. Not-Tobirama’s eyes remained on him, and Madara watched the realization dawn. 

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, levelling his glare at Mito. 

“Aw, don’t be mad,” Tobirama said gleefully. “It wasn’t this Mito to make the seal. It was the one in your world that came up with it!” 

Not-Tobirama’s glare flashed to him. “What,” he hissed, furious. Tobirama grinned, widely. It was so uncharacteristic it had Madara looking twice, sending a flare of fire at the water dragon chasing after him and Mito and finally evaporating it. 

“Oh, yes,” Mito cackled, hot on Madara’s heels. He sent out a flurry of fireballs just for good measure, forcing Not-Tobirama to leap back. 

“Have you not noticed that you can’t sense my presence?” Tobirama asked, crouching with his hands folded. A water dragon burst up behind him, roaring. It hovered at his side, waiting and ready. “Have you not noticed that you can’t feel my chakra?” 

Not-Tobirama scowled. He was realizing that Tobirama was right, Madara noticed, amused. He stopped beside Hashirama, holding out his hands, fire burning in his palms. “Hashirama!” he called. 

“On it.” Hashirama made a few quick signs, and vines erupted from the ground between him and Madara. They surged up, and tore through his fire, lighting themselves aflame. The burning vines rushed towards Not-Tobirama, who leaped back, dodging and slicing through them. 

“She lives,” Not-Tobirama hissed, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. “The sole survivor of the Uzumaki slaughter, and she dares to create a seal to oppose me?” 

“Oh, trust me, she’s not the only one eagerly awaiting your return,” Tobirama smirked. His water dragon curled around him, still ready, impatiently awaiting its orders. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that not only is Madara’s seal nullified, but so are all the other seals you placed on the members of our village. And what’s more, the very same severing seal is being placed on everyone in YOUR Konoha, too.” 

The outrage that twisted over Not-Tobirama’s face was far more satisfying than Madara could have predicted. Tobirama’s water dragon roared, and finally surged toward. A second water dragon rose up to meet it, and the two constructs collided. Not-Tobirama started forward, but Hashirama stopped him, vines bursting all around him, grabbing at Not-Tobirama, pulling him back, wrapping around his limbs. 

Shards of ice sliced through the vines. The portal flickered and wavered. Tobirama cursed quietly. 

“We have to hurry!” he barked. “The portal can only exist for a finite period of time!” 

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Madara asked, channeling the fire over his body into just his hands. Tobirama glanced back at him, and smiled. His water dragon, fighting furiously with Not-Tobirama’s, reared back. Hashirama’s vines wrapped around it, strengthening it, and it renewed its attack, blasting through Not-Tobirama’s jutsu. 

“Come on,” Mito said, sprinting forwards, seal tags in her hands. Hashirama was right behind her. With a rush of excitement, Madara followed. It was strange to fight next to all three, he thought to himself, glancing at Tobirama beside him, his pale eyebrows furrowed as he sent a flurry of water spears at his twisted counterpart. 

Between his fire, Tobirama’s water, Hashirama’s wood, and Mito’s seals, they drove Not-Tobirama back, closer and closer to the portal. But just as it seemed it might work, that they’d finally be able to force him through, Not-Tobirama firmly held his ground, and refused to budge another inch. 

The portal wavered and wobbled unsteadily. 

Well, no other way. Madara was known to be full of surprises, sometimes. 

Under the cover of Hashirama’s vines and Tobirama’s jets of ice and water, he ducked around, leaving the others, and slipping past. Then, he shushined away, and reappeared right in front of the demon. 

He had the satisfaction of seeing just a bit of surprise on Not-Tobirama’s face. He smiled, bright and disarming, surging up, grabbing those darkk white locks, and yanking him down. Not-Tobirama stiffened, probably expecting some kind of attack. As it was, he froze in surprise when Madara tugged a little harder, and kissed him, firm and unrelenting. 

Taking advantage of Not-Tobirama’s surprise, and Hashirama’s shocked squawking, he channeled chakra to his feet. With that added boost, he pushed forward, and tackled Not-Tobirama through the portal. 

~*~*~

They landed in a familiar place: the training ground outside of Konoha. Only it was a little different; darker, bigger, not as often used. It ran wild with overgrowth from lack of maintenance. 

Not-Tobirama landed on his back with a grunt, Madara perched over him, hands lowering from his hair to the dark blue fabric of his shirt. Not-Tobirama’s hands automatically came up, resting on his thighs, just as he suspected they would. 

“Enjoying the view?” he asked cheerfully. Not-Tobirama blinked, long and slow. Then his gaze hardened. 

“Uchiha!” he snarled, surging up and swiftly reversing their positions, pinning Madara down. At first, his action startled him, causing a flare of panic to course through him. Then he relaxed, smiling. 

“Demon Senju.” Not-Tobirama’s expression twisted, and he drew one hand back, as though to punch him. Then he stopped, head tilting. The presence of three other people explained why. With a grunt, Madara twisted, hefting one leg up, hooking the back of his calf in front of his throat and pushing him off. The moment his seat was upended, Not-Tobirama twisted back, rolling to his feet with a snarl. 

“You’ve made a mistake,” he growled, as Madara stood, rejoining Mito and the Senju’s. The portal wobbled, and fizzled out of existence behind them. “You choose to bring me back to my own world, mhm? You’ve made a grave error, bringing me back to my own turf.” 

“Maybe we have,” Tobirama said, shrugging. “But you don’t really think I’d come back without a plan, did you?” Not-Tobirama scowled, and Tobirama smiled. “Mito?” 

“Right.” The Uzumaki smiled, disarmingly. She withdrew a small scroll, filled to every inch with ink. Biting her thumb, she smeared a strain of blood over the paper. Smoke rose up from the scroll, and Mito set it down on the ground, setting her foot in its center. Then, she shuddered and trembled, and fell into the scroll. The ink immediately disappeared, and the scroll rolled itself back up, and vanished. 

Clever little vixen. Madara smirked at Not-Tobirama’s face, twisted in fury and confusion. “Alright then,” he growled lowly, lifting his hands and folding his fingers. “Here, there. It does not matter. The earth will sing with your blood, either way.” 

~*~*~

Of course, Tobirama knew Madara was fierce and powerful, beautiful when he fought. But this, this was something else. He had seen the Uchiha fight against Hashirama, over and over, his chakra burning and flaming and hot. He must have been holding back before. This was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The man himself was gone, utterly enveloped by the flame, like a star had fallen to earth and undergone the most spectacular of supernovas. 

From the look on Hashirama’s face, he must be having similar thoughts. 

Drawing up his chakra, he formed a few signs, summoning two water dragons. They curled around him, familiar, eager. One brushed against his side, almost affectionately. With a single thought, they were off, raging towards his counterpart. Seeing them coming, Not-Tobirama created a sturdy wall in front of him. The first water dragon crashed against it, and dispersed. The second swirled around it, and attacked from behind. Not-Tobirama roared, leaping away from its range. He was forced to redirect his direction when Hashirama came charging in with a roar, wood surging out of his fingers, wrapping around the counterpart. 

With a cackle that could rival a madmans, Madara swung in from above, all bright flame and burning chakra. He incinerated Hashirama’s timbers, and before Not-Tobirama could twist away, tackled him to the ground. Not-Tobirama roared, in pain or fury or both. The smell of burning flesh made Tobirama wrinkle his nose. 

Not-Tobirama summoned up a wall of water, and it crashed down over him and Madara. The Uchiha squawked indignantly, letting go and hopping back to rejoin Tobirama. He was utterly drenched, his long hair heavy and dripping. 

“Enjoy your bath?” Tobirama asked, with a judgmentally raised eyebrow. Madara scowled. 

“Shut up, Tobirama,” he muttered, wringing his hair out, sharp Sharingan’s carefully watching Hashirama re-engage with Not-Tobirama, wood styles clashing. He glanced back at Madara, pulling up his chakra, drawing the water off of Madara, drying him off, and letting it gather in his hands. It reformed from a shapeless mass, and into two long ice spears. 

Fire gathered once more in his hands. The Uchiha’s eyes met his. Before, he would have felt worried, exposed, meeting those blazing red Sharingans. But now, he stared back, utterly trusting. 

“Come on then, Tobirama.” Madara looked away again. “We don’t have all day, do we?” His chakra flared, burning bright, and he was off, lending Hashirama his support, burning away Not-Tobirama’s vines. 

Not-Tobirama shrieked in fury. “Damn you all!” he roared. “I have played around with you enough, but no more!” 

“What does he mean ‘play’?” Hashirama grunted, leaping away from an ice covered wood spike. Madara grunted in reply, burning away more vines, and casting a fireball to counter the water wave bearing down on them. He and Hashirama fell back to join Tobirama. 

Not-Tobirama was shaking with fury, his chakra flicking out of him, cold and dark, suffocating. “You dare,” he hissed. “I will kill you all, and I’ll destroy your precious villages while I’m at it.” 

His chakra hissed and flickered even more. His hands went through a sequence of signs. Madara inhaled sharply, apparently recognizing the sequence thanks to the sight granted to him by the Sharingan. 

“Oh, crap,” he muttered. 

“What is it?” Hashirama demanded. But before Madara could reply, the earth shook, and an inhuman roar had them all covering their ears. Not-Tobirama disappeared in a veil of dust.

Tobirama squinted at the dust cloud. He could vaguely make out the shape of something moving. Madara groaned. “Oh, man, this is going to suck.” 

“What is?!” Hashirama barked, frustrated with Madara’s lack of answer. In reply, the Uchiha just pointed, pursing his lips. 

The dust was clearing, and something was rising up from it, straightening to its full height. “Oh,” Hashirama muttered, just as Tobirama groaned, dreading the sight. 

An enormous wood golem stood before them, with three wood dragons twined around its body, their heads waving and hissing above and behind it like snakes. Not-Tobirama stood on its head, scowling fiercely, furiously. 

“Crap,” Madara muttered. Hashirama grunted, and started forming a few signs of his own.

“Wait, Hashirama!” Tobirama barked, detecting the familiar surge of chakra. His brother hesitated. 

“What?” 

“If you summon a wood golem too, you could accidently crush Madara or myself,” Tobirama pointed out. “And you’ll need our help if you’re going to stand against him.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Madara asked, frowning. Tobirama stared at him for a minute, his mind racing, but unable to come up with a solution right away. 

“No time to debate, move!” Hashirama bellowed. Vines wound around them all, yanking them out of the way of a massive wooden fist that could have squashed them to a pulp. 

“That was too close,” Madara said, shakily, as Hashirama’s vines deposited them safely out or range. Not-Tobirama’s wood golem turned, and stomped towards them, flattening everything in its way. 

Tobirama glanced over at Madara, and squinted. His chakra was still burning, still bright, but it was getting tired. He hadn’t been at his full strength right from the start, and he had already exerted a lot of energy and chakra by letting his flames rage so wildly. “Watch yourselves, and each other,” he said, watching the wood golem get closer. “We’ll think of something.” 

“I’ve faced Hashirama’s wood golem before,” Madara said, frowning at the approaching beast. “I can-”

“No,” Tobirama cut in, shaking his head. “Susanoo will drain too much of your power right now. And it's not just the wood style you have to be worried about.” Madara pursed his lips. 

“Well, no time for debate,” he warned, his chakra surging and fire bursting over his body again. Two of the wood dragons heads arched down on them, and they split up, each leaping in a different direction. 

Tobirama went through a few signs, sending an enormous water wall to the wood golem, planning to sweep it from its feet. The beast roared, taking a step back for balance, but not falling over like he had hoped. He cursed quietly, and glanced up, just as a ball of fire crashed into the giants chest. Another followed right after, then another, and another, exploding brightly and with enough force to send the wood golem staggering. 

“Eat shit, bastard!” Madara screeched, sprinting up the wood golems side and leaping at Not-Tobirama. One of the wood dragons intercepted his path, forcing Madara to scramble back, regain his footing, and refocus his attack. 

Vines curled around the wood golems legs, wide and thick, binding it. The beast roared, turning a little, and raising its massive fists. They came down hard, with the obvious intention of crushing Hashirama to a pulp. More vines wrapped around its arms, restraining it further before it could. With an absolutely passive look on his face, Hashirama rose up on another vine, his chakra blooming. 

He opened his mouth as though to say something, only to yelp in surprise when Madara crashed down nearly on top of him, flaming still, having been knocked down harshly by one of the wood dragons. Automatically, Hashirama reached out to steady him, and the wood golem ripped free, sending them both careening. 

Hashirama caught them both with a few thick branches, and Madara covered their retreat with an enormous fireball, big enough for the wood golem to wobble back. One of the wood dragons roared, whipping around to strike them from behind. 

With a grunt, Tobirama sent a water dragon to confront it, covering them further, as Madara and Hashirama shushined off, reappearing at his side moments later. “This isn’t working!” Madara hissed, his red eyes narrow. 

Hashirama looked frustrated. “We can’t use our full strength, not without potentially hurting each other and draining our own chakra reserves too far.” 

“If we’re being drained, the same applies to Not-Tobirama,” Madara pointed out, frowning at the wood golem ripping through the trees, hunting for them. Not-Tobirama was a tiny little dot on its head. 

“But he’s not limited to his own,” Tobirama reminded. “Hashirama has a near infinite reserve. And he has it too, now.” The words he himself uttered had him pausing, a sudden thought crossing his mind. 

Not-Tobirama had the advantage of having all this power in him. Just him. He had his own, and he had Hashirama’s. 

They had the advantage of numbers, plus Madara’s power to aid them, but they also had the disadvantage of having to watch each others back. They wouldn’t be able to work together in such harmony with their powers. 

“Madara,” he said, drawing his attention. Madara turned to him, raising an expectant eyebrow. He held up his hands, waiting until he looked down at his hands, before slowly going through a sequence of hand signs. He watched his Sharingan spin rapidly, taking in the signs, analyzing them. 

He resisted the urge to smile when Madara’s eyes lit up. “Oh,” the Uchiha breathed. “When did you come up with that?” 

Tobirama let his smile cross his mouth. “When I was trying to figure out how to get home. I discovered it by accident.” 

“It’s genius. As much as I want to rip the demon apart myself, I approve.” 

“What?” Hashirama blurted, clearly not following the conversation. Madara turned to him, with a somewhat rueful look. 

“Hashirama,” he said lowly. “We’re sitting this one out, now.” 

“What?” 

Tobirama reached out, grabbing them both, and hiashining them away, as Not-Tobirama’s wood golem stomped closer. They reappeared not too far away, on top of the Hokage face cliffs. Madara immediately sat down cross legged, holding up two fingers in front of him and closing his eyes. 

“Hashirama,” he said meaningfully, waving his other hand meaningfully. 

“I am not following,” Hashirama mumbled, but sat down next to Madara with a grunt. Tobirama sighed. 

“Not-Tobirama took this world's version of Hashirama’s power,” Tobirama explained, glancing back at the wood golem, already storming towards them. “I accidentally managed to create that very same jutsu. However, it is temporary. Any power I take, I can return, unlike his.” 

Hashirama stared at him, and he and Madara stared back, waiting. Finally, it clicked. “Oh,” he said, eyes widening. “Ohhh. I get it.” 

“Took you long enough,” Madara snorted. 

“This way, all of our powers can be wielded by one,” Madara confirmed. “One person, three different power sources. That way we don’t have to worry so much about hurting each other or synching up. It’ll just work on its own.” 

“So, who gets the honours-”

“Tobirama, obviously.” 

Hashirama stopped, and frowned. “I’m the one with the near infinite chakra reserves, remember? Doesn’t it make more sense if I-”

“No, Hashirama,” Madara interrupted, shaking his head. “Tobirama is the one with the brilliant mind. Or the more brilliant one, maybe. But this fight is his. Let him face his counterpart.” 

“It almost doesn’t seem fair,” Tobirama muttered. “He’s done a lot to you. It doesn’t seem right to take your vengeance from you.” 

Madara looked up, meeting his gaze. “Maybe. I don’t mind, if it’s you taking it for me.” Taken aback, Tobirama stared at him. Madara stared back, and smiled, just a little. “Now, hurry up, Tobirama. He’s almost on us.” 

Tobirama glanced back, at the wood golem and dragons getting closer and closer. “Right. Ready?” 

“We’re not going to faint are we?” Hashirama asked warily, holding up his fingers in front of him, just like Madara. 

“No, you need to be conscious for this to work,” Tobirama reassured. “But it’ll feel weird.” He went through the jutsu, drawing up on his chakra, working it and sharpening it, reaching two slender stands to Hashirama and Madara. They swirled around them, wrapping over their arms, their necks, and finally sweeping into their chests. 

The rush of power was...exhilarating. The hot, burning ash of Madara, churning and flickering, like fire incarnate. Hashirama’s was different. It was more peaceful, serene, but also deep. Like an ancient forest, calm and quiet, but deadly and powerful when aroused with fury. 

Tobirama inhaled sharply, as power that was not his own surged into him. The heat and the fire raced alongside his own coolness, and the ancient power of Mokuton twined around them both. 

“Take it all,” Madara said quietly, prompting Tobirama to open his eyes and stare at him. Madara’s Sharingan swirled mesmerizingly. His chakra spiked, and there was a strange sensation, like reality shifting. “All of it, Tobirama.” 

Tobirama’s vision sharpened suddenly. Everything moved slower, clearer. His eyes burned a little, oddly. “The Sharingan is yours to wield.” 

Tobirama stared at him with wide eyes, now realizing why his vision was so...intense, and Madara smiled a little, turning and staring at Hashirama until the other Senju met his gaze. Hashirama shuddered a little, glancing back at Tobirama. “Oh, Tobirama you look kind of weird with Sharingans,” he muttered, looking unsettled. 

Tobirama touched the underside of his eye, feeling the strange tug as chakra redirected to his eyes, powering the Sharingan. The new visual prowess, along with Hashirama’s and Madara’s power, surging alongside his own, was almost overwhelming. 

“We’re right here with you, Tobirama,” Madara said, closing his eyes. The rush of power coming from him grew stronger. 

“We’ll support you,” Hashirama added, closing his eyes as well. “We’ll stand beside you.” 

Tobirama inhaled deeply, focusing, manipulating the foreign powers. They responded just as readily as his own. 

“Alright then.” He turned, watching the wood golem storm closer. Thanks to the Sharingan, he could see Not-Tobirama perched on its head, his expression furious. “Let’s see what these powers can do all together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone remember that jutsu Tobirama came up with wayyyyy back in chapter 11?!?!?! THIS IS THAT JUTSU, I"VE BEEN PLOTTING THIS FOR SO LONG
> 
> What is Mito up to?  
> And HOW can Tobirama use the Sharingan by absorbing Madara's power?  
> Answers soon to come :D


	22. Fire and Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't write fight scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the updated tags.

~*~*~

Tobirama turned away from Madara and Hashirama, sitting motionless with their eyes closed, focussing on feeding their power to him, giving him full access to all of their abilities. It was utterly strange to feel the Sharingan swirling in his eyes. But he wouldn’t trade the vision it gave him for anything. He had never seen anything clearer, sharper. If he really focussed, he felt he would be able to count every one of the many hairs on Madara’s head. 

The roar of the wood golem had him sharpening his attention back to Not-Tobirama. His counterpart looked furious, his expression twisted and monstrous. Tobirama wrinkled his nose just a little. He hoped he never looked that ugly. Not likely, since they really didn’t look all that alike. Maybe from a distance. But certainly not up close. 

He latched onto Hashirama’s power, drawing it up and out of the fire and chill of Madara’s and his own chakras. The ancient Mokuton swirled up within him, surging up in his hands. Inhaling deeply, Tobirama went through a sequence of hand signs he had seen Hashirama use. Not often, but enough that he knew the sequence. 

The drain of Hashirama’s power was so much...less, than he anticipated. He placed his palm down on the ground, feeding the power into the earth. It cracked and trembled beneath him. Tobirama allowed himself a tiny smile, sensing the earth under his hand move and churn. 

Then, the ground exploded upward. Tobirama planted his feet firmly, keeping his stance, even as the wood golem he summoned rose up beneath him. 

This was….

Wow. 

The humanoid figure straightened to its full height, massive and powerful, unstoppable. Perched on top of its head, Tobirama ran his hand over its wood surface, awed. Never in a million years would he have ever expected to be able to summon such a thing. 

He glanced up, at Not-Tobirama raging closer. Ah, wait a minute. He drew up Hashirama’s chakra again, and three wood dragons formed around the wood golem, mirroring the other wood golem. 

“You think this will save you?!” Not-Tobirama roared. Opps, better stop getting distracted. He stood up, and the wood golem straightened with him. His three dragons slithered over its shoulders, hissing at their opponents. He glanced back at Madara and Hashirama. The wood golem responded to his worry, and jumped, leaving to two of them a safe distance behind, launching them directly towards Not-Tobirama. 

Tobirama absentmindedly sent chakra to his feet, magnifying himself to his wood golem and bracing himself. 

The two behemoths collided, and the impact would have sent Tobirama flying if he didn’t have the brilliant idea to anchor himself in place. He crouched, further steadying himself. Not-Tobirama cackled, his wood golem grabbing Tobirama’s by the arms, stepping back and nearly yanking it from its feet. One of Tobirama’s wood dragons roared, rising up behind him and surging forwards, gaping maw open like it intended to swallow Not-Tobirama whole. 

Two of Not-Tobirama’s wood dragons rose up to counter it. One grabbed his by the back of its head, and the other clamped its jaws over one of his dragon's horns. With a roar, another of Tobirama’s wood dragons came to its aid, ducking under the first of Not-Tobirama’s, jaws closing around the underside of its throat and ripping it apart. 

The wood dragon made a terrible noise as Tobirama’s ripped its head off. It’s body fell back, and Tobirama’s dragon tossed the ripped off head away, roaring its victory. The first of Tobirama’s wood dragons twisted free, retreating back with the other. 

Tobirama’s wood golem steaded itself, swinging its massive fist and punching Not-Tobirama’s golem in the face. The beast staggered, its two remaining dragons hissing with fury. Not-Tobirama made a few hands signs. 

Tobirama’s Sharingan spun, and he grinned, reading his opponents movements and coming up with a counter before Not-Tobirama was even done making his signs. 

Fire blazed up his throat, and he breathed out an enormous fireball, incinerating the huge branches Not-Tobirama sent his way, their movements wild and hard to read, but steadily moving as though to impale his golem. 

Not-Tobirama swore, immediately sending another burst of branches. Fire raged up from Tobirama again, burning them away. Tobirama laughed in delight. He never expected fire to feel so exhilarating, powerful. Addicting. 

But Sage, it was wonderful. Warm and churning, racing through his veins like it had a mind of its own, but rising to his beck and call with all the eagerness it could possess. 

“So you’ve taken Hashirama and Madara’s power, huh?” Not-Tobirama seethed. “You couldn’t be satisfied with what you had?!” 

“That’s a little hypocritical, coming from you,” Tobirama called back. Then, softer. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.” He spread his hands over the wood golem, sending a pulse of chakra into it. It rumbled its agreement, widening its stance. It was on Not-Tobirama’s golem frightfully fast considering its size, driving its massive fists into it. 

Not-Tobirama’s golem roared, grappling with Tobirama’s golem. His two remaining wood dragons surged forwards, sinking their massive teeth into Tobirama’s golem’s shoulders. They were quickly wrestled back by Tobirama’s own dragons. 

Struck by inspiration, Tobirama drew up Madara’s chakra again, funneling it into the wood golem, through it, and to his three dragons. He smiled, satisfied, and pleased that his idea worked. 

He watched one of his dragons rear up, open its jaws, and breathe a torrent of fire from its mouth, fully ensnaring one of Not-Tobirama’s in its hot breath. The other dragon shrieked, thrashing violently, but it could do little about the flames that consumed it. 

He felt Not-Tobirama’s chakra spike furiously as the wood dragon turned to ash. His one remaining dragon hissed, curling back. “You think your clever use of these powers not your own will help you?” his counterpart bellowed. “Clever, I admit. But smarts can do nothing in the face of absolute power!” 

With an enormous surge of chakra, so powerful and vile it made Tobirama hold back a gag, the ground beneath them burst. 6 more wood dragons surged up beside Not-Tobirama’s. 

“Dammit,” he hissed. Now seven wood dragons against his three. He could summon more wood dragons too, but his control over them wasn’t as strong. Now what? 

The rush of power he received from Madara spiked. His eyes started to ache as the Sharingans he carried swirled, and changed. A rush of power, so strong it made Tobirama reel, rushed out of him. Pure, concentrated chakra, blue and indestructible, started to wrap around his wood golem and his dragons. 

Susanoo. 

Awed, he watched the protective blue chakra wrap around the golem, fully encasing it in a moving shield. Susanoo also wrapped around his dragons, covering them right up to the tips of their horns. 

He glanced back at Not-Tobirama, whose glare darkened. “Susanoo itself cannot save you,” he growled. “It will shatter beneath me!” His wood golem surged forward, roaring. The seven dragons moved with it. 

“Okay, Gol,” he muttered, picking up the nickname without second thought. “Let’s test out this armor Madara lent us.” 

His wood golem, Gol, rumbled. It surged up, Susanoo clad fists meeting Not-Tobirama’s golem in its chest and rounded belly. His three dragons wove and ducked and snapped at the other seven, spewing fire from their jaws, Susanoo protecting them from their attacks. 

Frustration etched on Not-Tobirama’s face. His wood golem started to change, turning from brown, to white. Ice, Tobirama realized. It was creeping all over the wooden creatures body, great spikes forming on its shoulders, its elbows. 

“Let’s see if you can breathe fire too, Gol.” He drew up on the fiery chakra inside him, channeling it into Gol. The being reared back, opening its mouth, and breathed out a giant fire. Tobirama grinned smugly, watching the ice melt off the other wood golem. The flames went further, charring the wood beneath. 

Not-Tobirama’s golem stepped back, and a wall of water rose up to protect it from the flames. Inspired, Tobirama drew up on his own chakra. It made no sense for him to just use Hashirama and Madara’s power, and forget his own. 

With a surge of power, he sent a cloud of sharp ice shards raining down on Not-Tobirama’s head. One of his wood dragons intercepted the shards, and Tobirama frowned, a little irritated. He glanced back at the cliff, where Madara and Hashirama still sat utterly motionless, focussing on giving Tobirama the power he needed. 

It’d be best to separate the man from the wood construct. But how to do so…

Well, if Not-Tobirama was anything like him, he’d never resist a challenge. And he clearly didn’t have the caution that he possessed. “Take care of him, will ya Gol?” he requested, patting his wood golem’s head. The wood creature rumbled, as though in agreement. “Thanks.” 

One of his wood dragons curled around, pausing right beside him. With a final pet, he hopped up onto the wood dragon's head, and it carried him away. He heard Not-Tobirama roar in fury as he made his getaway, and he glanced back, just in time to see Not-Tobirama mimic him, leaping onto one of his own dragons and pursuing. 

His dragon let him down a few hundred meters away, then turned tail to aid Gol and his other two dragons. Not-Tobirama leaped down from his ride, black and red eyes furious. He did a double take when he saw Tobirama’s Sharingan. Briefly, Tobirama wondered if he would be able to cast a genjutsu with these eyes. Maybe something he could figure out some other time. 

The sound of the two wood golems and the 10 wood dragons fighting rang loud, and they shook the ground with their blows. Gol and his dragons were still wrapped protectively in Susanoo, and fire still belched out of their mouths. 

“You think you’re so clever,” Not-Tobirama hissed. “I will rip you apart, pest!” 

Well, he was certainly far more winded than he was. Tobirama pursed his lips, and drew up his chakra. To his surprise, Madara’s warm, comforting chakra moved too, rising up at the same time as his own. 

Fire erupted from his skin, encasing him in its warm embrace, just like it did with Madara, licking at his fingers, caressing his skin. He watched, fascinated, as it rippled over him, warm and orange and red. Then, to his surprise, it turned blue. 

Interesting. 

Drawing up on his sharp memory, he went through the signs of one of Madara’s more commonly used jutsus. The Phoenix Flower jutsu came out of him blue instead of orange. 

Not-Tobirama blocked with a water wall, which collapsed almost instantly, reforming into spears, which further solidified into ice. Tobirama blocked the spears with branches, drawing up Hashirama’s power and sending a blooming volley of vines towards him. Similar to him, they burst into blue fire, surging around Not-Tobirama, wrapping around him. 

Not-Tobirama swore loudly, violently, using the kinds of words that would have parents cover their children's ears and send scandalized looks his way. He wrestled himself free, his hands moving. 

The Sharingan spun cheerfully, reading his movements. Tobirama moved faster, breathing a fireball and forcing Not-Tobirama to abandon his work and leap away. Tobirama risked a look over at Gol to see how it fared. The Susanoo armor around it was still holding up. 4 of the 7 wood dragons of Not-Tobirama’s creation were ‘dead’, ripped apart or burnt to ash. Tobirama felt oddly proud of them. 

Satisfied that Gol and the dragons were fine, he refocused his attention, drawing tiny particles of water from the air around him, shaping them into water blades. They solidified into ice. Vines curled around the ice, and blue fire licked along their edges. 

The Sharingan in his eyes swirled, watching intently as Not-Tobirama formed ice swords of his own, vines swirling around them, but lacking the fire. Tobirama inhaled, feeling the three chakras swirl inside of him, and braced himself. 

He raised his blades in the nick of time, barely managing to block Not-Tobirama’s attack. The impact of their blades collision sent shock waves up his arms. He glanced up, Sharingan meeting the angry black and red eyes of his counterpart. He smiled, just a little. 

Was Not-Tobirama as fast as he was? As skilled with the blade? Time to find out. 

With a grunt, he adjusted his stance, twisting his wrist and increasing the flow of fire chakra into his swords. The blue flames surged, bright enough to force Not-Tobirama to wince and glance away. A knee to the gut had him coughing, stepping back, and Tobirama took advantage of the opening, assaulting the other with a rapid barrage of blows. 

Aided with the Sharingan, he read Not-Tobirama’s movements, blocking and countering them before they could land. Not-Tobirama’s chakra flared and spiked. He was getting frustrated, and his movements were growing sloppy, uncoordinated. 

Tobirama grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head down and driving his knee up and into his face. The demons nose cracked with a satisfying sound, and he sliced one of his flaming swords across the back of his leg, severing his hamstring muscles. 

Not-Tobirama roared, and surprised him with a flurry of vines that caught him in the chest. Tobirama summoned a few flames, placing his burning hand on the vines, burning them away before they could push him back too far. 

He jumped back, and landed lightly a few meters away from his opponent, catching sight of the signs he was forming, and countering. The roots that erupted from the ground were intercepted by a wall of water, which turned to ice, trapping the wood before it could go further. 

He flared his senses, and Not-Tobirama straightened, as best he could with a nearly useless leg. His chakra was swirling within him. Not...not his. Hashirama’s. His wounds were healing. 

Of freaken course they were. 

He couldn’t dally along anymore with injuries intended to slow down his opponent. He had to deliver more damage, hit more vital points, and more rapidly too. 

Well, if that’s how it had to be, fine. 

He dodged a flurry of ice shards and vines, using a few vines of his own to propel himself to safety after a particularly nasty Water Shockwave was cast his way. 

He glanced back at Gol, and smiled. Not-Tobirama only had one wood dragon left. Susanoo was still holding up, and the other wood golem was on fire. Lots of fire. It was spreading rapidly over the golem, devouring it ravenously. 

Inspired, Tobirama drew up his and Madara’s chakra, intertwining them, taking the speed and ferocity of the fire, feeding it into the water that gathered in his hands. It boiled and steamed. 

Now, then. The vine under him dropped away, letting him land back on the ground again. The water surged forward, sharpening. At the same time, vines and roots broke the ground beneath Not-Tobirama’s feet. They coiled around his ankles, his legs, binding his hands. 

Not-Tobirama snarled, and the water sliced into him, like thousands of tiny knives that had been sitting in a fire. 

Not-Tobirama wrestled free, summoning a thick root and perching on it. Tobirama waited, watching the blood leak out of the hundreds of tiny stab wounds. “You cannot defeat me,” the demon hissed. 

Oh no? He seemed to be doing a pretty good job so far. He smiled at his counterpart, the blue flames around his body flaring. Not-Tobirama’s dark gaze glanced over him, lingering on the blue fire. 

“Answer me this,” Tobirama said, straightening. “I’ve been wondering this since I got sucked to this world.” 

“Ever curious,” Not-Tobirama grumbled, shaking his head. “Who am I to deny myself knowledge? Ask away, little pest.” 

Tobirama scowled. “I am not you,” he reminded. “We are similar, perhaps. Each other from different worlds. But we are not the same.” Not-Tobirama just smiled, amused by his defiance. “Why didn’t you take Madara’s power when you killed him?” 

“Ah.” Not-Tobirama’s root set him down again. “I wondered why no one asked me that yet.” He drew up two vines, reshaping them into swords. Ice covered them, razor sharp. Tobirama did the same, leaving the fire, for now. “It is true I killed Madara,” Not-Tobirama said, leaping forwards. 

Tobirama blocked him, pushing him back, and sweeping back in. “He fought so desperately, so violently. But in the end, he died. Beautifully, spectacularly.” Not-Tobirama ducked under a swipe that would have taken his head off. “The way he bled, the way he fought for his last breaths. Utterly enthralling. I still remember oh so clearly.” 

Tobirama hopped back, just a moment too slow, and Not-Tobirama’s blade swiped over his chest, ripping through his shirt and the underlying skin. Tobirama hissed, twisting away and knocking aside his other sword before it could make contact. “I’ve often dreamed of recreating the scene,” Not-Tobirama went on. “I wanted to see the sight again. I wanted to see the Uchiha fight for his life in vain.” 

Another violent exchange of blows, and Tobirama flinched away from a deathly sharp vine arching towards his throat. “You ask why I did not steal his power. Simply because I did not need it. Nor did I want it. How could I take the power of the one thing I desired most? If I could not have that power in the man himself, I didn’t want the power at all. It would be so much sweeter to control that power while Madara still held it. It’d be so much greater to use the man and his power as my own personal weapon.” 

Tobirama drew up on the fire within, stabbing his swords into the ground and breathing out a fireball. Not-Tobirama blocked with a water wall, and as the wall surged up, he pulled his swords out again, and charged, bursting through the water wall. Not-Tobirama was forced back, dodging and blocking his furious barrage. 

“When I came to your world, I had two choices,” Not-Tobirama went on, narrowly dodging a vine through the chest. It grazed his shoulder instead, and a spray of blood splattered on the ground. “I could have killed Madara, if I wanted. I could have recreated his lovely death again, seen it over again. But I made the mistake once, and I was not about to do it again. This time, I would have him, him and all of that delightful power. He’d be my weapon, my possession, when I was done with him he’d be my very extension. Fully and utterly mine.” 

Tobirama frowned, irritated, and roundhoused his counterpart in the face. He reeled back under the blow, and sprang back a few meters. “I did not take his power because I didn’t want it, not alone. I wanted to man himself, and he died, in this world. I won’t allow you to stop me from having him in yours!” 

Tobirama froze the water wall he cast in front of himself, barely in time even with the Sharingan to help him see the thorny branches coming his way. It shattered beneath the onslaught, crumpling to millions of tiny pieces at his feet. Not-Tobirama grinned at him from the other side. 

“Now, you tell me something,” he requested, springing closer, his swords weighed down even further with ice. Tobirama blocked the first with a vine enforced arm, and ducked under the other. “You and I, we are one and the same, are we not? We have the same powers, the same smarts. I am certain we have the same...desires, as well.” 

Tobirama scowled, and inhaled sharply as one of his swords pierced his shoulder. Not-Tobirama leaned closer, until their faces were only inches apart. “Tell me,” he drawled, even as blood leaked out of the corners of his mouth. Tobirama grunted, grabbing the swords wooden blade and wrenching it out of his shoulder with a flash of pain and a spurt of blood. “Tell me, little pest. Do you desire him, as I do?” 

Tobirama didn’t have to guess to know what, or rather, who, he was talking about. He pursed his lips angrily, dropping one of his own blades, summoning water to his hand, hardening it into ice, and swiping at his head. Not-Tobirama blocked, with a deranged grin. 

“You do, don’t you?” he cackled. “You want him as badly as I do, only you’re too weak to take what is yours!” 

“Madara is not mine!” he snapped, pushing Not-Tobirama away, making a few hand signs and drawing up a Fire Dragon, which roared, burning and bright and huge. Not-Tobirama’s hands moved, forming familiar signs, and sending three water dragons to counter it. The behemoths clashed, snarling and twining around each other. They’d cancel each other out soon. 

“He is his own,” Tobirama went on, scowling. “You do not own him!” 

“Feeling protective, are we?” Not-Tobirama teased, his mad eyes alight with amused delight. He put some distance between them again, and the swords disappeared from his hands. “I could take your power, you know,” he said, thoughtfully. . “But too much of a good thing….isn’t always a good thing, is it? I’ll make you a deal.” 

Tobirama paused, curious despite himself. Not-Tobirama took his silence as confirmation. “You want to protect your village, don’t you?” he asked, gliding closer. “You want to protect your brother, your clan, your people…. Isn’t that right?” 

“Obviously,” Tobirama hissed through gritted teeth. Not-Tobirama sighed. 

“Mhm… Alright then. Here is my offer. I will leave your people, your village, and your dimension alone.” 

“What’s the catch?” Tobirama demanded. 

“I get Madara.” 

The fire enveloping Tobirama flared. “No.” 

“It wasn’t up for debate. I return home, and I take what’s mine.” 

“He is not yours!” Tobirama bellowed, losing his infinite patience. He lashed out at Not-Tobirama, who swore, and jumped back. “He is not yours, and he never will be!” he snarled. Not-Tobirama’s lip curled, and he ducked under Tobirama’s next strike. 

“Don’t you think you’re being selfish?” the demon hissed. “I offer to leave you and your friends and family and beloved pathetic little village in peace, all for one tiny thing in exchange, and yet you refuse? Are you so selfish, that you’d try to keep Madara for yourself, even at the cost of everything else?”

“He is not mine,” Tobirama hissed. “And for the last time, he is not yours!” 

Not-Tobirama ducked and doged uner his next few attacks, his face twisted in irritation and concentration. And then, finally. 

The Sharingan swirled, drawing his attention down. A long stream of water just underneath Not-Tobiramara, ready and waiting. He drew up on Hashirama’s power: a root surged up under the water, wrapping around Not-Tobirama’s left leg, crawling further up his body. He extended his own power, reaching out to the water, urging it to rise up. 

It responded to his power, hardening, solidifying into a razor sharp blade. At the last instant, Not-Tobirama managed to wrestle half free. The ice sliced through his leg at the knee, instead of surging up and splitting him in half like Tobirama had been intending. 

Not-Tobirama roared, and a water dragon surged up beside him, balancing him. Would Hashirama’s power be able to regrow amputated limbs? Tobirama glanced down at the foot and calf lying on the ground. 

“You,” Not-Tobirama snarled, his voice darkened with fury and pain. “Bastard!” 

His chakra spiked, and twisted. “That’s enough,” Tobirama said, raising his hands in preparation. “You’ve had your fun. But like all mad dogs, you ought to be put down.” 

Not-Tobirama hissed. “You cannot kill me.” 

“I believe I can. I have Madara’s power, in addition to Hashirama’s and my own. And you only have the two. You simply don’t have enough.” 

Not-Tobirama sneered. “Then perhaps I should even those odds,” he growled. He drew himself up with a grunt. Vines wrapped around his amputated limb, cutting off the blood flow. A wooden limb replaced the one he lost. 

“If I cannot have him, no one can.” 

Then, he was gone. 

Tobirama froze, flaring his senses. Where had he gone? Where was he going to go? 

The sudden reappearance of the demon's chakra had him immediately reaching for the mark he had placed on Hashirama, and he hirashined to the cliffs, where his brother and Madara sat motionless, all their attention utterly focussed on feeding him their power. 

Just as the hiashin started to wrap around him, he felt the chakra from Madara flare, and twist, and abandon him, racing back to Madara, in a desperate, last ditch effort to protect its master. As fast as it moved, and as fast as Tobirama moved, neither were fast enough. 

Madara’s chakra flared violently as the hirashin took him, teleporting him to the cliffs. As his feet touched the stone, Not-Tobirama’s chakra darkened further. And Madara’s wavered, sputtered, flickering like a fire desperate to continue burning, despite being doused with water. 

No. 

Not-Tobirama looked up, meeting his gaze, and grinned. His hand tightened in Madara’s hair. The Uchiha’s hands, which had flown up to grab his wrist, fell limply at his sides, his dark eyes darkening even further. Blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth. 

Erupting from the center of his chest, piercing through his heart, ripping apart his lungs, and severing his spine, a blood soaked vine twisted, and curled, further widening the gaping hole. Madara made a choking noise. 

No. This couldn’t be happening. 

It was. 

Not-Tobirama laughed, a dark and twisted sound. Hashirama’s eyes flew open, a horrified cry ripping up his throat harshly. 

The bloody vine ripped back, and Madara crumpled. With a final, desperate flicker, that in the end did nothing, Madara’s chakra, his lifeforce: that blazing, comforting warmth, snuffed out. 

“NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama covered in blue fire, with Sharingans. Breathe if you agree. 
> 
> Also. 
> 
> I'm sorry.


	23. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. Ya'll were mad. I gotta say tho, I was very amused by all your despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya girl passed all her exams, WHOOOHOO

~*~*~

Tobirama caught Madara before he hit the ground, folding onto his knees, wrapping his arms around the Uchiha’s shoulders. “No, Madara, dammit!” He flared his senses desperately, but that fiery chakra, that warmth and brightness, was gone. 

Hashirama was up and moving within the span of a heart beat. Familiar black lines rippled under his eyes as his Sage Mode took over. He lunged at Not-Tobirama, thorny vines erupting from the earth around him. Not-Tobirama snarled, leaping back, countering with a flurry of ice and roots of his own. 

Tobirama ignored them, for now, shifting on his knees, turning Madara over in his arms and brushing his hair from his face. His dark eyes were half open, dim, and unseeing. The blood trickling out of his mouth was no longer flowing. With a wince, Tobirama glanced down at the gaping hole in his chest, and looked away just as quickly, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Hoping against hope that his impeccable senses were wrong, he frantically scanned for chakra, for life. But there was nothing. 

With a sinking feeling, Tobirama lifted a shaky hand, closing his eyelids, trailing his fingers over his nose, his cheeks. “Madara,” he breathed, moving his fingers to run through his hair. “I’m so sorry.” 

He slowly wiggled his way out from under him, lying him on his back. His eyes were stinging, with unshed tears, he realized. His eyes fell back to Madara’s face, still, slack, almost peaceful in death. 

A familiar presence had him looking up abruptly, just as Mito and the Mito from this dimension, as well as Izuna, shushined next to him. Mito’s grey eyes widened in surprise when she saw him sitting next to an unmoving Madara, then turned to Hashirama, screaming his fury and his grief while fighting Not-Tobirama. 

“Anija!” Izuna cried, collapsing onto his knees next to Madara. “No, no, no, not again. Not again, please! Mito, Mito, tell me this isn’t happening!” 

The blond haired version of this world's Mito put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I...I am sorry, Izuna. Truely, I…” She looked away, shifting her gaze to Tobirama. “What happened?” 

Tobirama looked away, and shook his head. Izuna’s breaths came in heavy hitches, like he was trying not to burst into tears. He bit his lip, and squeezed his eyes shut. He could still hear Hashirama yelling, driving into Not-Tobirama with a fury he had rarely seen his brother unleash.

“Tobirama,” Mito said, stepping next to him. “Any luck?” 

Her words forced him to refocus. “He...He has the same healing rate as Hashirama. And with Madara we could have taken him down, but…” He glanced down at Madara, his throat tightening. 

“Will it work? Mito pressed, gently. Tobirama pursed his lips. 

“I think so. We just have to get close enough… He is ready too, then?” 

“Leave that to us,” Blond Mito said, straightening. “And yes. Izuna, stay here, for now. We’ll come for you when it’s time.” 

Izuna didn’t reply, just nodded jerkily, his hands on his alternate dimension brother's face. “Ready?” Mito asked, raising a thin red eyebrow at her own counterpart. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” The two Uzumaki’s held up their hands, and the both of them disappeared. Tobirama turned away from Izuna and Madara, the sight making him feel sick. 

“I...I’m sorry, Izuna,” he said quietly, listening to his shaky breaths. “I really am.” Guilt twisted his stomach, and he strove to push it away, hiashining away. He reappeared next to Hashirama. His brother's face was twisted with fury and despair. Small tears were leaking out of his eyes. 

“Mito is back,” he informed, his voice soft. “And so is other Mito, and Izuna. This world's version of yourself is ready, as well.” 

Hashirama uncharacteristically didn’t reply, and Tobirama brushed his chakra against his. Hashirama’s was twisted with grief, despair, dark and heavy. It was eerily similar to how his own was feeling. 

“Not much longer now,” he added, raising his hands and covering Hashirama’s vines in ice. Together, the Senju brothers fought back against Not-Tobirama. In the near distance, Gol and his wood dragons finally pummeled Not-Tobirama’s creations to the ground, having had an advantage with the Susanoo before. Even with it now gone, it still prevailed. With its victory, the wood golem and dragons melted away again. 

As Tobirama ducked under a wave of water, interspersed with sharp thorns, he caught sight of Blond Mito reappearing to his right. Regular Mito must not be far from her position, then. “Hashirama, into the gorge,” he said, pointing at the small gap in the earth that caught his attention. 

Hashirama nodded, the black Sage marks thickening a little further. Vines erupted out of the ground next to Not-Tobirama, forcing him to leap to his left. Tobirama followed up with a burst of ice spikes. 

Blond Mito crept closer, carefully hiding behind their attacks. Clever woman. 

Slowly, sneakily, they guided Not-Tobirama back to the gorge. Just as he entered the mouth of the gorge, Mito leaped out into sight, and Blond Mito did the same, on the other side of the gorge. 

“Vortex Seal!” Blond Mito panted, tossing a large scroll down on the ground at her feet. Across from her, Mito also tossed down a seal scroll. Black lines shot out of both scrolls, streaking towards each other, intertwining together and expanding. Between the two women, Not-Tobirama screeched at the top of his lungs, caught in the middle of the two seals that circled around him, black lines swirling over his body. 

The ground burst up from in front of his seal, and the Hashirama from this world hopped out of the earth. His hands went through a rapid flurry of signs, the same ones that Tobirama had taught him. 

“It’s working,” his own brother said quietly, drawing back his power. The vines he summoned slunk back into the ground. 

Not-Tobirama roared, leaping towards his brother with an enraged expression. The lines on the ground all around him flared, turning red, and a barrier erected around him. He drew back from it, whipping around as though searching for a way out. But the barrier was solid; black and purple lines started to dance over the red, swirling around it, faster and faster, forming intricate patterns. 

“Now!” Mito called to her counterpart. 

The dark rhombus on both of their foreheads flared, the Strength of a Hundred seals spreading their influence over the two women, winding black lines marking over their skin. Blond Mito pulled out another scroll, and a second seal erupted from it, flowing towards Mito, connecting with her, and arching back. The red barrier tightened around Not-Tobirama, crackling fiercely with energy. Chakra flicked out of it like lightning, drawing down on Not-Tobirama, suppressing him and his desperately thrashing chakra. 

“Hashirama!” Blond Mito cried. 

“Working on it,” other Hashirama grunted. Tobirama flared his senses, testing to see if the jutsu was working. 

Well, of course it was. With a surge of elation, Tobirama followed the movement of the chakra within Not-Tobirama, watching as Hashirama’s power started to separate from the demon, rushing back to the man it belonged to. 

“Mokuton!” other Hashirama exclaimed, weaving together a few signs. Vines burst out of the ground all around him. 

“Yes!” Tobirama crowed, as the remnants of Mokuton finally abandoned Not-Tobirama, flowing into Alt.Hashirama. “Come on, Anija!” At his side, Hashirama made the exact same signs as his counterparts. The vines he summoned burst up within the seal barrier the Mito’s had created, wrapping around Not-Tobirama, and squeezing. 

Ice formed over the vines, halting their movement. Not-Tobirama’s hands flashed through a series of signs. Water churned up around him like a liquid tornado, obscuring him from view behind the churning waves. 

Blond Mito scowled, reaching down into her belt and drawing out another scroll noticeably smaller. She scribbled something onto it, and tossed the seal towards the barrier, which opened just enough to let it pass through. The scroll fully unraveled, and the seal drawn onto it flared purple. 

Similar to how the portal did, the seal emitted swirling whips of chakra, catching the water sprout, sucking the liquid up and into it, until none was left. Not-Tobirama hissed as the scroll rolled itself back up, and disappeared again. His chakra spiked, and hardened, growing colder. Unfamiliar hand signs made Tobirama frown, both curious and suspicious. Water bubbles started to form out of thin air, reshaping, swirling into its new forms. 

Tobirama cursed as they sharpened, solidifying into ice. Not-Tobirama grinned savagely, and raised his hands, fingers started to move, manipulating the ice shards surrounding them. 

A flicker of orange and red flashed above him, and Izuna descended, bursting through the barrier, his entire body alight with flame. His eyes burned violently red with Mangekyo Sharingan. Black fire erupted out of his hands, crackling and fierce. 

Not-Tobirama’s black and red eyes flashed up, and widened just a little. Izuna crashed down onto him with an enraged scream, knocking him to the ground. His Amaterasu clad hands clasped either side of Not-Tobirama’s face, and he pinned his arms down with his knees, perching over his chest with a scowl. 

“This isn’t even all you deserve,” he hissed. “You killed my brother, and then you killed him again. You beat down my family, my clan, but like the Phoenix from which we are descended, the Uchiha rise from the ashes!” 

Not-Tobirama screamed, a horrible, piercing thing. The seal trap around him flared brighter as his chakra lashed out, desperately seeking a way from the flames. “Your ashes shall be the soil from which we regrow,” other Hashirama muttered. Blond Mito took her husband's hand, watching quietly, with a forlorn, yet peaceful expression as his twisted little brother burned. 

Not-Tobirama thrashed and shrieked, but Izuna was unrelenting. Amaterasu spread, devouring the demon beneath him, until only an imprint of his shadow remained. Mito and Blond Mito retrieved their scrolls, each slashing a black line over the ink written upon them. The barrier that had trapped Not-Tobirama wavered, wobbled, and disappeared. 

Tobirama shushined away from Hashirama, reappearing beside Izuna as the Uchiha groaned, slumping over. The strain of Mangekyo and Amaterasu had gotten to him. Izuna slumped over into his side, gasping for breath through his exhaustion and his tears. 

“Easy,” Tobirama muttered, guiding Izuna down onto his back. “Just breathe, you’re fine.” Blood mingled with his tears, leaking from his eyes like scarlet ribbons. “You did well,” Tobirama added, as both Hashirama’s and Mito’s withdrew their chakras and silently approached. 

“Why did he have to die?” Izuna whispered, closing his now dark eyes. “Why him?” 

Tobirama pursed his lips, looking away. He didn’t have an answer to that question, even if he asked himself that as well. Izuna sighed softly, his chakra dimming, and passed out. “He’ll be fine,” Tobirama muttered, as his brother crouched down beside him. Hashirama nodded, running a glowing green hand over Izuna’s chest. 

“Yeah, he will be. He’s tired, emotionally and physically exhausted. But yes, he’ll be alright.” He leaned back again, glancing down at the shadow burnt into the ground, which had once been Not-Tobirama. Tobirama flared his senses just a little, making sure he was really gone. There were no traces of his chakra left, burned away by Izuna’s wrath. 

“Shiyana will be wondering,” Blond Mito offered up. “She’s been biting at the chance to come out herself.” 

“It is better than she didn’t,” Tobirama sighed. “Her idea worked, if with a couple of….” He trailed off, and shook his head, painfully reminded of Madara’s loss. “We should get back. I’ll get him. Hashirama, can-”

“Of course. I’ve been...wanting to see this other Konoha.” 

“I’d be more than willing to show it to you,” other Hashirama offered. He let go of his wife's hand, crouching down and sweeping Izuna up into his arms. “The village will be anxious to hear the outcome.” 

“Tobirama,” Hashirama said quietly, glancing over at him. “Are you sure-”

“Yeah. I’ll be there...soon.” Ignoring Hashirama’s and Mito’s compassionate looks, doubled by those of their counterparts, Tobirama shushined off, making his way back to the cliffs. 

When he arrived, he sat down silently beside the Uchiha’s motionless form, absentmindedly reaching out to toy with a strand of his messy hair. “I should have listened to you,” he admitted quietly. “If I had just listened, been a little more patient, none of this would have happened. We’d probably be down in my lab right now, working on some new jutsu. Or even the same one that backfired so spectacularly.” 

He glanced down at his face, only to look away right away again. The coldness he felt, so starkly opposite from the warm fire he had come to associate with Madara, felt wrong, horribly so. “I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t go down the same path as him,” he added after a few minutes. He felt a little stupid, talking to a body that couldn’t hear him, couldn’t speak back. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Why didn’t I go crazy, like him? Why did I not have the same violent tendencies, twisted nature?” 

“Maybe it was a loss,” he mused, curling the hair around his finger tightly. “Maybe this world's version of me faced something in the past, and caused him to lose his mind. I’ve heard that loss can do things like that to people. But what could he have lost to drive him to such madness? What’s to say I won’t go down that same path?” 

He sighed, letting go of the coil of hair, arranging it back in place. “For all of our differences, between him and I, there were some similarities. Very slight ones, and his were rather more twisted. But…. Maybe he desired you. And yes, I did, too. But I doubt in the same way. He wanted to break you, destroy you, grind you under foot. And me? I just wanted you. All of you, all of your defiance and wit and sass and just...you.” 

He ran a hand up his face, pinching his eyebrows together, eyes closing again. He sat in silence for a while. After a time, he wondered if it was morbid of him, to sit so long beside a dead body. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn away or move. Not yet. “You’d be proud of Izuna,” he said eventually. “He’ll make a fine clan head, both in this world and our own.” 

His own words had his chest tightening. Izuna. Of course, the Izuna in his own world didn’t know. The Uchiha clan didn’t know, no one did. How was he going to break the news to Izuna? He could already imagine his reaction. Disbelief, denial. Followed by absolute despair. Izuna would be crushed. 

Imagining it made it worse. 

Tobirama shook his head, willing his thoughts away. Sitting around and despairing would help no one. Madara would absolutely kick his ass if he found him doing nothing. Konoha here needed work, needed to reform its hierarchical system. It’d take time to re-establish itself and its power. 

He turned back to Madara’s motionless, lifeless form. “If I could go back in time, save you from all of this, I would.” 

His vision blurred suddenly. At first, he thought that maybe tears were trying to leak out of his eyes again. But then he realized the world was spinning, jerking, reforming a little. Reality shifted, in an utterly disconcerting way. He looked around him, startled, as people started to appear around him, looking equally confused. 

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” a familiar voice drawled behind him. Tobirama spun around, leaping to his feet in surprise. “Come now, did you really think I was just going to go ahead and die like that?” 

Warm, familiar chakra rolled over him, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. OBVIOUSLY. 
> 
> Come on, what'd you take me for. 
> 
> All will be revealed. Soon. I realize it was a little anticlimatic, and originally Tobirama was going to win. But then I thought....Izuna deserves a chance for revenge too. Also I have limited motivation.


	24. Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I a predictable writer? Urgh

~*~*~

His voice came out as a breathy whisper. “Madara…”

Dark eyes brightened with playful mischief, and the warmth of his chakra grew heavier, washing over him like a thick blanket. 

“Good evening.” 

“I am….so confused,” Hashirama half whimpered. Tobirama blinked, finally recognizing the people around him. Both Hashirama’s, both Mito’s, an unconscious Izuna… and the shadow of Not-Tobirama’s ashen remains. 

“Seconded,” other Hashirama agreed. He rubbed his eyes, and squinted at Madara, standing tall and straight next to Tobirama, unharmed, unbleeding, breathing steadily, heart pounding away with life. 

Now that he thought about it… He stared at Madara, and the Uchiha raised an eyebrow as his scrutinizing gaze. “What?” 

“How did….How are we- What?” 

“Very eloquent, Tobirama. Truely, worthy of an audience.” Madara smirked at his frown, and his dark eyes brightened into red. The three tomoe disappeared, fading away into an unfamiliar pattern. His chakra spiked, and the strange, disconcerting feeling of reality wavering hit him again, and then faded. 

“Genjutsu,” he breathed, and Madara hummed, letting the red fade away. “But...how then? How did you hold it for so long? When did you cast it? How did that transfer over?” He pointed at the burnt shadow of Not-Tobirama, the blacked smudge from Izuna’s Amaterasau. “Did he actually burn? Was the whole wood golem thing actually a thing? How did-” 

“Yesh, slow down,” Madara scolded, holding up a hand. “It wasn’t easy you know.” Tobirama frowned, and looked a little closer. Now that he was actually paying some more attention….Yeah, okay. Madara looked tired, too pale, too drawn and worn. 

He nodded slowly, and Madara looked satisfied. “Okay, first. Yes, genjutsu...of a sort. Izanagi.” How badly Tobirama wanted to demand what he meant, but he held his tongue, for now. “I cast it right before I gave you access to Sharingan. Surely, you felt something.” 

“Oh,” Hashirama muttered, realizing. “When you looked us in the eyes. That’s when you cast it.” 

Madara nodded. “This….genjutsu. It cast illusions over reality, instead of just someone's mind. I control what is real, and what is not. Imagination becomes reality.” 

“But how did you hold something so powerful for such a long time?” Mito protested. Madara just smiled tiredly, and winked. 

“So, wait,” other Hashirama said, shaking his head. “How did you do this? How are we all here, and not back at the village…. I don’t really get it.” 

“I’m not expecting you to,” Madara said airily. “Let me try to explain.” He crossed his arms, then lifted one, setting his chin in hand and propping his elbow on his forearm, eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully. “Yes, the wood golem was real. Both of them. You fought beautifully, Tobirama. And yes, Not-Tobirama killing me was...real, to an extent. The moment he was next to me, I caught him under it too. He killed me, truely. But also not.” 

“What?” Hashirama blurted, ungracefully. Madara sighed. 

“It’s….difficult to explain. But anyways. Throw down between two giant wood beasts, real. Hashirama and both Mito’s and Izuna coming, and more fighting, and trapping Not-Tobirama in a barrier, real. Izuna burning him into a shadow, real. But only because I allowed it to be. Like I said, I control what’s real, and what’s not. But you all leaving to go back to Konoha, not so much. You just thought you were going back, but in reality you were motionless, your minds convincing you that you were moving. The only one who wasn’t unaware was Tobirama, as he ended up coming back here on his own.” 

“Where were you then?” Tobirama pressed, frowning. And then felt a slight feeling of dread when Madara smiled. 

“Right here. It takes concentration to maintain this genjutsu. I can’t just run around. It takes all my concentration and focus.” If Madara was sitting here the entire time, then…

“Did you….hear, everything?” 

Madara tilted his head, and his expression became guarded. “Yes.” 

“Oh…” A lump rose up in his throat, and he swallowed thickly, looking away. 

“Were you...were you just watching everything?” Blond Mito asked, looking bewildered. Madara nodded, and she frowned. “But...why? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just fight with us?” 

Madara frowned. “Don’t question me. I did what I did for good reason.” 

“What reason?” Hashirama asked, drifting closer and looping an arm over his best friend's shoulders. Madara didn’t even shrug him off, just pressed back briefly and let Hashirama dote over him. 

“Closure,” he said quietly, his dark eyes landing on Izuna, who other Hashirama had set gently on the ground earlier. “The powers of the Uchiha are awakened with trauma. I put Izuna through seeing his brother die again for a reason, as much as I wish I didn’t. As much as I wanted to kill the demon, and as much as I’m sure you all wanted to as well, I believe Izuna would gain the most of this. His sight, his power, his freedom, his revenge. He awakened Amaterasu, and gave Not-Tobirama the most excruciating of deaths he could have.”

Tobirama squinted at him. Something seemed off, just a little. With a curious flare of his chakra, he was quick to figure out what. Frowning, he marched over to Madara, gripping his chin, gently, in between his fingers, and tilting his head up. “You’re blind,” he realized. Madara’s hand came up, pale fingers curling around his wrist. 

“Only in one eye. It is the price to pay. I don’t regret it.” 

“I can heal it for you,” Hashirama offered, but Madara shook his head. 

“This cannot be healed, I’m afraid. Besides, I...want the reminder.” He tugged Tobirama’s hand away, and Tobirama let him, taking a step back hastily, realizing he may have crossed a line. Madara didn’t seem startled, but he was also just about ready to pass out, if his long, tired blinks and wavering chakra were any indication. “Are you happy with that explanation?” 

In truth, Tobirama was dying to demand more. But Hashirama nodded, patting Madara on the shoulder. “Yes, we are. Why don’t we bring you home?”

“Soon,” Tobirama injected. “There’s a few things we need to do here yet.” 

~*~*~*

Sitting quietly beside Izuna, Madara gazed down at his brother from this alternate dimension. He looked so similar to his own Izuna, besides the chopped hair and the increased number of scars. He was a bit thinner, older. But Izuna through and through. Absentmindedly, he raised a hand to card his fingers through that shorter hair, humming in distaste at how greasy it was. 

“You need to wash this,” he muttered. Izuna didn’t reply, because of course he didn’t. He was emotionally drained, and chakra depleted. Mangekyo and Amatersau demanded a lot. Speaking of which, Madara felt more than ready to keel over and sleep for a week. Or 6. Sage, he was tired. 

Hashirama, both of them, were pestering him to sleep, eat, rest up. Seems other Hashirama took advantage of his presence to lavish as much attention and suffocating eagerness on him as he could. And his own Hashirama was even worse, no longer fearing Not-Tobirama breathing down his neck. 

Mito and Blond Mito quickly became terrifying partners in crime. The two of them together was a match made in...well, not heaven, but not hell either. Simply put, they were scary. 

And Tobirama… 

He twisted a lock of Izuna’s hair around his finger. Tobirama. Well. 

Madara wouldn’t lie to himself. He knew he felt some level of attraction to the younger Senju. He knew he cared and thought of him more than he should. He knew he had thoughts and imaginations he shouldn’t. But to hear that Tobirama had the same, for him? 

He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Ordinarily, maybe he would have been elated, throwing caution into the wind and exploring this new development with interest and enthusiasm. 

But now, everytime he looked at Tobirama, he saw the shadow of his twisted counterpart hanging over him. It took an astronomical amount of effort not to look away when Tobirama met his gaze, not to bow his head, docile and submissive. 

But still, he wanted to try. He wanted to see if they could maybe...Maybe they’d work.

With a sigh, Madara raked a hand down his face. What was he supposed to do now? On one hand, he wanted to see what could happen, with him and Tobirama. But on the other hand...He couldn’t shake the unease that gripped him, even as he convinced his mind that he was fine, that he was safe, that Tobirama would never, ever hurt him. 

But what if he did? He thought back to Tobirama’s words when he came to him on the cliffs, thinking he was dead and all but pouring out his heart to his body. He had wondered about going down the same dark path. Ever since he said those words, Madara wondered, too. Sure, it was unlikely. This was an alternate dimension, after all. Things worked a little different here. People were different, their stories were different. Tobirama wouldn’t walk down that same path. 

Madara would make sure of it. 

He glanced back at Izuna once more, then slowly climbed to his feet, brushing his fingers over Izuna’s forehead once more, before turning and silently leaving the room. Losing the vision in his right eye was less of a hassle than he thought it’d be. His hair usually obscured his sight anyways. But still, he bemoaned the loss, even if it came for good reason. 

Mentally scolding himself for his thoughts, he strode down the hall, bypassing the living room and heading to the room given to him. He could hear the two couples talking quietly. Two Hashirama’s, two Mito’s. How horrifying. 

He ran his fingers through his hair again, wincing as they caught on the damp tangles, refusing to dry after the bath Hashirama had all but forced him into, nearly drowning him with his insistence. He glanced down at the futon, debating. Izuna wouldn’t wake up for a while….a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. 

~*~*~

He felt like his eyes had barely been shut when a large hand was excitedly shaking his shoulder. He groaned, flopping over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. “Someone better be dying,” he growled, voice hoarse with sleep. 

“Quite the opposite! Izuna’s awake.” 

Finally, a good reason to get up. He rolled over, sitting up and blinking rather dazedly at Hashirama, who grinned down at him, all cheerful and excited. What a happy puppy. He held up a hand, and Hashirama took it, heaving powerfully and hauling Madara to his feet with far too much enthusiasm. 

Madara pulled free, shouldering past him and hurrying down the hall, but not before patting his friends shoulder meaningfully. He couldn’t fault Hashirama for being so...overbearing and cheerful. They had just won a great victory, and Hashirama had been frustrated and pinned down for weeks, unable to care for people that way his nature demanded him to. So what if Madara was feeling a little understanding… 

He pushed open the door to Izuna’s room, freezing in place. The other Uchiha was sitting up, frowning at Blond Mito as she said something, but his gaze immediately snapped to Madara. “Anija,” he whispered. 

Madara smiled. “Hey, chickadee,” he said affectionately, leaving the door open in his haste and kneeling beside him. Izuna practically threw himself at him, hands burying into his hair, squeezing him with tight desperation. 

Madara looped his arms around Izuna’s back, letting him mould impossibly closer. Blond Mito stood, and with a tiny smile, left them to themselves, closing the door quietly behind her. Izuna was trembling, barely noticeable, but still obvious. His breathing was laboured in a way that Madara recognized. 

“Hush, sparrow,” he said quietly, running his fingers through Izuna’s hair, scratching his scalp. “You’re okay. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore, I promise.” 

Izuna sniffed, face in the crook of his neck. “I know….I know you’re not really my brother, but…” 

“If you think I’m letting you think that, you’re wrong,” Madara warned. “Sure, we’re from different worlds. But you are Izuna Uchiha, and you are my little brother. Don’t make me smack that into you.” 

Izuna laughed weakly. “You sound like him.” His hands moved, from his hair, over his shoulders, up his neck, finally cupping his face. “You feel like him, too. Warm, and soft. Like a fireplace.” 

“Interesting comparison,” Madara said dryly, as Izuna leaned back to stare at him. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “When we were so close to winning. I...I haven’t felt despair like that in a long time, Maddy.” 

“No dumb nicknames,” he chided, and Izuna laughed again. 

“He always said that, too.” Izuna’s fingers brushed down his cheek, gently, like he was made of porcelain. “I never got the chance to tell him I was sorry,” he whispered. Madara caught his hand, and weaved their fingers together, squeezing. 

“Sorry for what?” 

Izuna looked down. “Everything. For encouraging him to keep fighting, even when he wanted peace.” 

“You were right, in the end,” Madara said softly. “You feared what the Senju would do, and in the end, your predication came true. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Izu. No matter what you did, what you said, it would come to the same end. If you encouraged him to make peace, it would have come so much sooner.” 

“Would it?” Izuna countered. “Tobirama went crazy because of the war. I encouraged Anija to push it along, to keep fighting. And now look what happened.” 

“Don’t say that,” Madara urged, putting his other hand under Izuna’s chin and urging him to look up. “Don’t you ever blame yourself, Izuna. You cannot place nonexistent blame upon your own shoulders. The fault lies with the Tobirama from your world. And in the end, you emerged victorious over him.” 

Izuna nodded slowly. “I did, didn’t I? What’s going to happen now?” 

“We go home,” he said with a shrug. “Me and my Tobirama and Hashirama and Mito. Your Konoha, and mine, will rebuild, regrow. Your village will elect a new Hokage, to undo all the damage done. Shinobi are resilient, Izuna. We will all heal, with time. It may take months, or maybe years. But we will heal.” 

“You’re right,” Izuna agreed after a long pause. “But Madara...Will you come back?” 

Madara ruffled his hair. “I don’t know, sparrow. Maybe. But I think that too much interdimensional travel probably isn’t a good thing.” 

“Probably not,” Izuna sighed. “Will you stay, for a bit?” 

“For a little while. We’ll help you and Konoha get back on your feet. But then, we must go home.” He lowered his hand from Izuna’s chin, and leaned back, taking in Izuna’s disheveled state. “Now, go get cleaned up, brat. You look like crap.” 

Izuna’s offended squawking as he dragged him to his feet made him smile. 

After forcing Izuna to actually clean and not just hop in and out of his bath, he pushed his brother down on the futon, sat behind him, and started combing his wet hair until it dried. Then he kept on combing, scratching his scalp, playing with the short strands, until Izuna was nearly passed out with bliss. 

Blond Mito came for them a few hours later, quirking an amused eyebrow at the sight of them curled into each other, hair and limbs everywhere. “The village and clan heads and elders are assembled,” she informed, smiling wryly as they worked on untangling themselves. “They want to see you, both.”

Izuna stood with a yawn, and Madara absentmindedly fixed his brother's hair, making it look a little more presentable, before nudging him to follow Mito. Izuna grabbed his wrist, as if making sure that Madara would follow. 

Gathered in other Hashirama and Blond Mito’s living room were a few dozen people. Some were familiar, and some not. They varied in age, but the vast majority were older, clan and village elders who would have a say in village matters, normally. 

They all fell deathly silent as they entered, all eyes landing on Izuna and Madara. Madara forced himself not to wilt under their stares. Their Madara died years ago. Of course they’d be startled to see him. 

Izuna tugged on his wrist, and they sat down beside each other on a couch already occupied by both Hashirama’s and Mito. Tobirama sat opposite of them, his white hair a little tousled, red eyes following Madara intently. 

“On behalf of Konoha and her people, we thank you 4, Madara Uchiha, Hashirama Senju, Mito Uzumaki, and Tobirama Senju, for freeing us from our tyrannical leaders grasp,” one of the elders said. She was so hunched over and wrinkled and old that Madara was surprised she could even take a step. “You have our eternal gratitude.” 

“Your people are our people,” Hashirama said, bowing his head respectfully. “Of course we will answer your call for aid. And should you need us again in the future, we will come.” 

“As will we,” another elder promised. He bore the crest of the Sarutobi clan. He looked vaguely familiar, but Madara didn’t feel like summoning the energy to figure out his name. 

“We must move on,” a young Nara said. Her expression was intense, and her dark hair pulled up in a tight bun. “We cannot let Konoha grow weak under lack of leadership. We may be at risk of attack from other nations. We must name our new leader.” 

“Shiyana,” Tobirama started, frowning. “Don’t you think we should wait until he-” 

“No, she is right,” a Senju injected. “We must name our new leader, and make a statement at the same time. Word will spread, and no one will dare to attack Konoha when her new Hokage is the one who liberated us from the demon's grasp.” 

Madara lifted a hand, hiding his smile, when as one, all eyes turned to rest on a certain person. A positively ancient Senju stepped forward, dropping to his knees, and bowing. Everyone else in the room did the same. 

“Congratulations on your appointment, Nidaime Izuna Uchiha.” 

~*~*~

Their departure was a quiet affair, and a select few people saw them off. Izuna, Shiyana, Blond Mito, other Hashirama, a few Uchiha and Senju. He watched Madara bid Izuna farewell, pale hands straightening the white Hokage robes that swamped the younger Uchiha. The now familiar work of reaching for his marker back home, channeling the fire both Madara and Izuna sent his way and turning it into energy to power the portal had him feeling vaguely nostalgic. 

“Well, bye then,” he offered up, as Hashirama and Mito disappeared through the portal. “I hope all ends well with you.” 

“Thank you, Tobirama,” Izuna said seriously, squeezing Madara’s hand once more, reluctant to let go. “You’ve done more than we could have asked. We owe you.” 

“And I you, for helping me get home.” 

“Take care, chickadee,” Madara said, giving Izuna an affectionate head tussle one last time. Izuna caught his hand, yanking him in for a bone crushing hug, and Madara hummed, patting his brothers back reassuringly. 

Then he kissed him on the forehead, patted his cheek gently, and stepped away. With a final smile, he stepped through the portal, and disappeared. 

“Take care of him,” Izuna requested. 

“I will,” Tobirama promised. “Bye, Izuna.” 

“Goodbye, Tobirama.” 

Tobirama nodded, glancing at the others, then turned and strode through the portal. Madara, Hashirama, and Mito waited for him on the other side. Together, they watched the portal waver, and fizzle away. “Well,” Hashirama muttered. “Now what?” 

Tobirama turned, surveying the marketplace. It was teeming with people, who were starting to notice them, and flock towards them with delight. “Now, we do the same. We rebuild. We heal.” 

~*~*~  
2 months later  
~*~*~

Per usual, he strode into Madara’s office without knocking, holding a few reports he needed the Uchiha to sign. He stopped in his tracks when Madara set down his pen, and shoved his papers away, folding his hands and looking up at him with a carefully neutral expression. 

He stared for a moment. “Madara,” he said quietly, briefly flaring his chakra and letting it brush against Madara’s. The other man blinked. 

“Oh. Right. Sorry, habit.” He looked down, grabbing his paper again. Tobirama pursed his lips. Two months they’d been home, and while Madara was relaxing a lot, there were still times when he’d freeze and flinch away from him. It took Tobirama stepping back, touching his chakra with his own, to relax him again, remind him that he wasn’t the twisted version of his other self. 

“Don’t apologize,” Tobirama insisted, setting the reports down on his desk. “Have you given any thought to our conversation?” 

“Yes.” Madara’s reply was terse, annoyed, and Tobirama sighed. 

“Madara-” 

“Nothing is wrong with me!” Madara insisted, looking up and glaring at him. “I am fine.” 

“You’re not,” Tobirama protested. Madara pursed his lips. “It’s not weak to ask for help,” he continued, in a softer tone. “Izuna and most of the village has done the same. Kenara’s offer still stands. She’s asked me about you when she can’t find you herself.” 

“Keep that woman away from me,” Madara grumbled. “I don’t need anyone poking around in my head.” 

Frustration boiled up inside him. The Yamanaka clan had had their hands full, working with everyone in the village who came for help, helping them overcome the trauma from Not-Tobirama’s time in Konoha. And still, Madara refused Kenara’s offer to help him work through his own ordeal. 

“You can’t keep going on like this,” he said gently. “Try to deny it all you want, but you can’t. You’re hurting, Madara. Everyone can see it.” 

Stubbornly, Madara looked away, glaring out the window. The fact that he wasn’t arguing back with his usual vhelmence was indication enough. “Just, think about it some more?” he asked finally. Madara nodded, and Tobirama sighed again, turning to head back out. Then he paused, one hand still on the doorknob. 

“Would you like to come for dinner tonight?” he asked quietly. He could feel Madara’s eyes on his back. Or eye. Either or. 

“I’d like that,” came the quiet reply. 

Tobirama bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Good. Come by at 7.” Before he could change his mind, Tobirama hurried out, gently closing the door behind him. 

~*~*

Dinner was a simple affair. Madara was a lot more relaxed than he had been that afternoon, speaking a little freer, a little easier. Maybe that was because of the half a bottle of sake he was working through. They made small talk, about the newly rebuilt market, and some jutsu’s that they had worked on before all of….that. 

They eventually retreated to the living room, sake in hand, and sat beside each other on the couch. Tobirama wasn’t sure if it was the sake, or the late hour. Madara looked particularly striking tonight, skin slightly flushed from the alcohol, the top of his casual yukata coming a little loose and exposing a sliver of his collarbone. Half his hair was pinned back with a heavy clip, but a few strands stubbornly fell out. 

Tobirama didn’t try to resist the urge, and gave in to the desire to brush his hair back from his face, gazing into his dark eyes. It was almost hard to believe that Madara was completely blind in one eye. His stare still had the same burning intensity. 

“Tobirama,” Madara said quietly, when Tobirama stared a little too long. Those obsidian orbs glanced down, for just a moment. He leaned in a little, pleased when Madara did the same. Losing his reservations, but still being careful, Tobirama reached up, resting his palm over Madara’s jaw. 

The other didn’t flinch away, and even seemed to lean into his touch, just a little. Carefully, Tobirama leaned in further. Madara made a soft humming noise when finally, finally, his lips pressed against his, gentle, yet firm. 

He tasted like fire, if fire could have a taste. Ashy, spicy, in a way. Madara sighed softly into the kiss, and Tobirama brought his hands to his shoulders, pulling him closer. When Madara went willingly, he lowered them to rest against his hips, gently guiding him to half sit on his lap. Madara’s hands tangled in his hair, deepening the kiss unrelentingly. 

Tobirama responded eagerly, blood singing in delight at finally getting his hands on the other. Automatically, he shifted a little, slowly rearranging them until Madara was straddling him, and turning them over to press Madara back against the couch. 

Madara didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he didn’t notice. Pleased, Tobirama leaned over him, nipping at his lip, grinning when Madara let out a breathy little sound. Tobirama dragged one hand down his chest, and worked it through the folds of his yukata, finally touching the pale skin beneath. He caressed his hand slowly upward, tracing a defined pec muscle. 

A burning flare of chakra had him leaning back in concern, at the same time as Madara going ramrod still. “Madara?” he questioned, in concern. Madara’s face looked...different. His chakra spiked and rolled and tumbled, filled with anxiety and underlying fear. 

Tobirama pulled back, but Madara tightened his grip, not letting him go. “No, I’m fine,” he muttered, dragging him down for another kiss. Tobirama resisted, and pulled away, shaking his head. 

“No,” he said firmly, reaching up to pry Madara’s fingers loose and sitting back. Madara scowled. 

“But I want-” 

“No, you don’t,” Tobirama interrupted, placing a finger on his lips to shush him. Madara’s dark eyes glittered unreadably. “You think you do. But you’re not ready, and I am not about to ask you to do something you aren’t ready for. “ 

“Tobirama,” Madara grumbled, turning his face so Tobirama’s finger fell away. “I...But you…” He glanced down rather pointedly, and Tobirama winced. Truth be told, he had been very interested in where things were going. But they hadn’t gone so far as to make it awful. Just...uncomfortable in the restraints of his clothing. 

“No. I am not going to do that to you. I will not ask or force you to do anything, even if your mind is trying to tell you to do it. You are not ready.” 

Madara’s expression was carefully blank. “Do you...not want me?” he asked softly. His question made Tobirama close his eyes and inhale deeply. 

“Don’t say that. I want you more than I can comprehend.” 

“So, what’s the problem?” 

“I already told you!” Tobirama leaned back more, matching Madara’s glare. “I am not going to touch you until you can look at me without that shadow of doubt, when my presence doesn’t make you flinch, when your chakra doesn’t spike at the sight of me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Madara broke eye contact again, and stared quietly at the wall. Tobirama carefully untangled his legs from his, and sat up. After a time, Madara did the same, drawing his legs up onto the couch and sitting cross-legged. 

For a while, they were quiet. “Fine,” Madara said finally, prompting Tobirama to raise an eyebrow. At first, Madara didn’t meet his eyes. When he did, they were resolute. “I will see Kenara Yamanaka, then. I will prove to you I’m not broken.” 

Tobirama smiled. Leave it to Madara to take his concern as a challenge. “I never thought you were, Madara. And I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I twisted Izanagi a little to suit my wants. Sue me. 
> 
> Izuna as Hokage. Soft Tobirama. Breathe if agree. 
> 
> Next chapter will be what it will. 
> 
> Also, since we're just about wrapped up with this work, someone give me ideas for more fics cuz I got nothing but i don't wanna abandon the ship :(


	25. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not hugely impressed with this chapter. I wrote it in like two hours, zoomy zoom. I realize it's not entirely accurate, but I don't want to go too deeply into it. Just want to show that people can't just bounce back and be fine after something like this.

~*~*~

In Kenara Yamanaka’s living room, Madara sat slouched in the comfortable chair, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted just right so his swath of hair covered his face, and was absolutely NOT sulking or pouting, no matter what his idiot of a little brother claimed. 

Kenara sat prim and proper on the couch across from him, setting her tea back down on the table and clearing her throat. “Alright then, Madara. Shall we begin?” 

Normally, Madara appreciated not beating around the brush. But now, he very much did not appreciate it. He had been halfway through convincing himself he was here just for a social visit, not to discuss his mental unstability. He winced to himself at the wording of his thoughts. 

Kenara seemed to pick up on his unease, for she smiled patiently, but not condescendingly. “We will start slow,” she promised. “Small things only. Are you sure about your decision?” 

Madara nodded. “I want to remember,” he said quietly, staring down at the floor. “I need to. If I don’t, I won’t appreciate what we have here without...him.” 

“I understand. So then, you simply want to cancel out negative reactions to these memories? Take away the reactions to them, but still fully understand and comprehend them?” Madara nodded again, and she sighed. “You certainly aren’t making this easy,” she commented, sweeping her hair back and gathering it into a leather tie. “Let us begin, then. Please, close your eyes, and try not to lash out when you feel me inside you.” 

Oh, she could have worded that so much better. 

Madara decided not to childishly comment on it, and did as told, closing his eyes. Only moments later, he detected a foreign presence poking at his mind, pressing against the mental shield he erected. Reluctantly, he drew the shield down, imagining it lowering slowly, like a brick wall coming apart one brick at a time. 

By the time his wall was fully lowered and Kenara’s overwhelming presence was flooding through his own, he was already regretting agreeing to see her. This amount of openness, this vulnerability, was not nice. At all. A shinobi’s mind was a dangerous thing, a trusted thing. To have his shield peeled back and his thoughts, his emotions, his very being exposed to another was nerve racking. 

‘ _Relax_.’ Kenara’s voice didn’t come from a source. It echoed all around his mind, seeming to come from every direction. That did not help him calm down. ‘ _It’s alright, you’re safe,_ ’ Kenara soothed. ‘ _You can burn me from your mind whenever you wish. See?_ ’ 

An image presented itself on his closed eyelids. A hand, pale and slender, reaching towards him, and abruptly bursting into flame, burning to ash. ‘ _I have no reason to harm you, Madara. So please, allow me to take the lead in this._ ’ 

Madara hesitated. He didn’t nod or reply, but Kenara picked up on the slight shift of his emotions, his quiet consent. Without waiting for him to change his mind, she proceeded, her thoughts tracing his own, going back, back, back, all the way to the beginning. She started with the scene of Not-Tobirama standing in his lab, black and red eyes staring at him for the first time with surprise and intrigue. 

Madara hunched in a little further on himself, feeling his fingers tighten on his biceps painfully hard, even though his mind was a little disconnected from his body. ‘ _Now, let’s go through all the things you were feeling at this moment,_ ’ Kenara instructed gently. ‘ _Let’s see here….Can you tell me, Madara?_ ’ 

‘ _No,_ ’ he thought immediately. ‘ _I don’t want to_.’ He knew the foolishness of his own words, and Kenara did too. She waited patiently as he gathered himself. ‘ _Confusion,_ ’ he said finally. ‘ _A little bit of...disbelief maybe. Wariness. No fear though, not yet. Just a strong sense of...wrong_.’ 

‘ _Good,_ ’ Kenara praised. ‘ _That’s an excellent start. Shall we continue?_ ’ He consented quietly, sending a vague wave of acknowledgement her way. She moved away from that memory, drawing up on the one immediately after, following until they were in Hashirama’s lab, Not-Tobirama’s hands iron shackles on his wrists, and Hashirama’s face pulled in a scowl. ‘ _What can you tell me about this scene?_ ’ Kenara asked. 

Madara took a moment to remember. ‘ _He had just told us about what he did to the Uchiha in his world,_ ’ he recalled. ‘ _How he blinded them, locked away their chakra. I asked him about children born into the clan. He told me he took their eyes as soon as they awakened the Sharingan._ ’ 

‘ _How did you feel about this?_ ’ 

‘ _Disgusted. Furious at his actions. A little sick. More wary than before_.’ 

‘ _Were you afraid?_ ’ 

Madara considered. ‘ _A little. I feared for my clan, mostly. The man was clearly unstable. I worried what would become of my clan._ ’ 

‘ _A reasonable worry,_ ’ Kenara agreed. ‘ _Do you want to suppress the emotions you felt during these memories?_ ’ 

‘ _No. Not yet. This aren’t so...bad._ ’ 

‘ _Of course. Let’s carry on, then._ ’ Well, the woman certainly didn’t doddle. They moved onto the next memory, of Madara hurrying to his clans district, sending the summons for all Uchiha to immediately return, hovering anxiously over Mito as she placed her seals all around the clan district. 

Kenara paused as they continued, drawing up on the memory of Madara jerking awake in the middle of the night, Not-Tobirama pinning him to the bed with a grin and a crazed glint in his eyes. The brief scuffle that followed, the seal searing into the back of Madara’s neck. Another brief scramble, ending with Not-Tobirama calling up on the seal he had placed on Izuna, ordering his little brother to slit his wrist, himself feeling the same pain. Sitting still as a statue, letting Not-Tobirama touch him, kiss him. Then, scrambling away, only to freeze once more when Not-Tobirama threatened Izuna again. 

Madara’s thoughts came to a screeching halt just before they could go to the first time he dropped to his knees for the demon. They focussed on Izuna, on the fear he had felt when he understood Not-Tobirama’s power over his brother. The fear, the anger, the despair, that his little brother could die if he made a single misstep. Knowing Izuna’s life depended on his cooperation. 

He didn’t need Kenara’s prompting to know how he felt during all that. 

Anger, fury, disdain. More anger, disgust. Shock, dismay. Pain, dread. Anxiety and wariness. Another burst of absolute fury, swallowed by dismay, again, reluctance, surrender and shame. Fear. 

Not Izuna. 

Not his baby brother. He had come so close to losing him. What if he had assumed Not-Tobirama was bluffing? What if he had just charged ahead with his stubborn refusal, and ended up signing Izuna’s life away for the sake of his pride? Izuna could have died and it would have been his fault, and-

‘ _Madara, calm down,_ ’ Kenara soothed, ever calm and gentle. ‘ _Relax. You’re starting to get rather hot. Take a few deep breaths. Izuna is alive, he’s fine. You did what you had to. We can block these memories, we can-_ ’

Not Izuna. Izuna almost died. Sage, what if Izuna had died? How would he live with himself, knowing he cast his brother's life aside like it was nothing? He tried to breathe. It wouldn’t come. His chest felt tight, heavy. Not-Tobirama’s hand, clenching around his heart, squeezing until it burst. His heart turned into Izuna’s. 

“Madara! Calm down, young one, it’s okay. You’re safe, Izuna’s safe, you have nothing to fear. Breathe, you’re okay. Izuna-” 

No, not Izuna. He couldn’t stand to lose Izuna. He had lost everyone else already. Please, sages. Please, never Izuna. 

“Anija!” 

Hands on his shoulders, up his neck, into his hair. Familiar hands, rough and calloused, slender fingers. Familiar red eyes meeting his. When had he opened them? Long hair met his own hands. He couldn’t breathe. 

Izuna. 

“I’m here, nii-san” Izuna soothed. Hands tightened around him, pulling him closer. His fingers fisted in the front of Izuna’s mantle. One hand reached up, touching his brother's face. His very real, very present face. He was cool. Or maybe Madara was too warm. 

“-bring down the fire, okay? You’re okay, we’re okay, you just need to draw the fire back, okay? Can you do that, anija? I’m here, it’s okay, you’re okay….” 

What fire? He looked away from his brother's face. Oh, that fire. It was all around them, arching around the brothers like a protective shield. Pull it back? Why? 

Fire was warm, it was comforting. It belonged in him. He reached out, touching the flames fiery passion, their fierce protectiveness. They delighted at his touch, leaping to him, surging back into his body. There were people standing around them, keeping their distance from the fire that had encased them. 

Something wet touched his cheek. He brushed his fingers against it, and looked down. Red. Blood. His eyes were bleeding? No, just one eye. The one he still had sight in. Right. Because he lost vision in his other eye. He lost it, and its power. And now he was weaker, and he couldn’t protect Izuna, or his clan, or his village, or Izuna, Izuna, Izuna almost died, he almost caused him to die, what kind of brother would do that, what kind of-

“Madara!” Izuna grabbed his face, leaning forwards and pressing their foreheads together. “Can you taste anything?” 

Taste? Taste what? Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. Metallic, coppery. Blood. He could taste blood. From his eyes? Eye? 

“Anija, can you tell me what you taste?” Izuna encouraged. 

“Blood,” he mumbled, without really thinking. Finally, a breath. 

“Good, yes! That’s good, anija. Can you smell anything? How about you tell me two things you can smell?” 

What did that matter? He started to draw back, but Izuna tightened his hold. “Ash,” he said finally. “Blood.” 

“You’re doing great, anija,” Izuna praised. “What if you tell me three things you can hear?” 

The weight on his chest was starting to lift. Izuna was alive, he was okay. “You,” he replied, his thoughts slowly starting to clear from the train of Izuna, Izuna, Izuna dying, Izuna dead, Izuna. “Fire? Someone is talking, but I don’t...know…” 

“You don’t have to know what they're saying,” Izuna insisted. “You’re doing so good. Can you tell me 4 things you can feel?” 

Madara considered. “Your shirt,” he said finally. “The floor, it’s wood. Your hair, kinda course. You need to wash it.” 

Izuna laughed, quietly. “Yes, I do. One more thing, anija?” 

Madara touched his cheek again. “Um, blood.” 

“Yes, that. One more thing for me, okay? Can you tell me 5 things you can see?” 

“You.” The answers came a little easier. “Blood. Soot. Ash. People….” 

“Do you know where you are?” Izuna prompted, brushing his fingers over Madara’s jaw. Madara stared at him. He breathed in. Looked around. It was familiar. Why was he….? Oh, right. 

“Kenara Yamanaka’s,” he realized. Izuna smiled. 

“That’s right.” His brother kept touching him, gently stroking up and down his face, petting his hair. Madara breathed. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” he mumbled, suddenly ashamed. He glanced up, through his curtain of hair. Hashirama was on the other end of the room, crouching beside a blond woman, her arm in his hand, her expression slightly pained, but thoughtful. Burn marks all over her arm….

Fingers under his chin guided his eyes...eye...back to Izuna. “You’re okay,” his brother soothed. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt us. You, or me.” Madara grabbed his brother, all but squishing him against his chest. 

Izuna was warm, solid. Alive. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t going to die. The relief was near overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and Izuna shook his head. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said firmly. “Nothing. You hear me, Maddy? Nothing.” Madara pulled back a little, watching the people around them. Hashirama, healing Kenara. Oh sage, had he burned her? 

She noticed him staring, and smiled. “It wasn’t you,” she said, almost cheerfully. “I delved too deep, too soon. I am sorry for pushing you.” 

Madara winced. His first bad memory, and this is how he reacted? It wasn’t even all that bad, compared to others. How was he going to handle the other ones, the much worse ones? He pushed away from Izuna, suddenly needing the space. Izuna let him go wordlessly. 

He surveyed the room. Half of it was blackened, burned, by the flames he let loose. When had they burst out of him? Some of the room was wet. Wet? 

He turned, and his gaze landed on Tobirama, sitting quietly in the corner, watching him. They stared at each other for a moment. Tobirama. Not Not-Tobirama. His Tobirama. 

With a heavy sigh, he stood up, and slowly plodded towards the other. “I assume you’re to thank for extinguishing the fires,” he muttered, folding himself down next to the Senju. Tobirama hummed. 

“Only some. I couldn’t get the fires directly around you to go down.” 

Madara sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I...I can’t do this,” he admitted. Tobirama looked unmoved, unimpressed. 

“It’s your first session. Of course it wasn’t easy. It will take time.” 

“I think you did quite well,” Kenara injected, striding up to them. Her burns were healed, courtesy of Hashirama, who hovered behind her, staring at Madara with concern. “Much better than some other villagers. There were tears, screaming, tantrums, panic attacks, and the like. You only burned down half the room. All in all, a success.” 

Madara stared at her. Had the woman lost her mind? 

She smiled back. Her gaze was compassionate, understanding. She crouched down in front of him, taking his hands. Tobirama silently stood, padding away and guiding his brother away as well to give them some privacy. 

“Madara, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,” she said quietly. “Everything you did, you did for Izuna and the village. None of us fault you for it, no one will judge you. In fact, everyone I speak to expresses how thankful they are to you.” Madara stayed quiet, and she continued. “I know it’s hard. I know what you’re thinking, of all of this, of yourself. You are right, when you say you are not broken. Maybe just a little chipped, a little cracked. Like a beautiful vase, tested by time and trial and abuse. Splintered, but never broken. The cracks only add to its beauty.” 

“Careful, Yamanaka,” he said dryly. “Someone might think you’re coming onto me.” 

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” Kenara scolded. But she was smiling. “Can you come back tomorrow night? It’ll give you some time to settle, and prepare, now that you know what to expect.” 

Madara hesitated. He really, really didn’t want to come back. He didn’t want to relieve those memories, feel all the same things as before. “I understand your reluctance,” Kenara went on. “I do. It’ll help you to heal to confront your emotions and memories. You will emerge all the stronger from it.” 

“Stop making a good argument,” Madara complained, weakly. He was tired, for some reason. He felt like he had just fought some battle. His shoulders hurt, and his head throbbed. All he really wanted to do was go home and sleep for a year. 

“I excel at making good arguments,” she replied, winking. “Come back to see me, Madara. Yes, this went a little bumpy. But it is progress already. I am proud of you for today.” 

How embarrassing. 

He looked away, and found himself meeting Tobirama’s eyes. The other man stared back at him, his expression unreadable. Madara could see the well hidden concern in his red eyes. “Okay,” he relented. He had the feeling that not coming would disappoint Tobirama. For some reason he didn’t like that idea. Oh, and he vowed to prove the Senju wrong. 

He nodded to himself. “Alright. We’ll continue, then.” 

Kenara squeezed his hands, and smiled. 

~*~*~

Tobirama watched Madara and Izuna leave, heading back home. Izuna was holding his older brother's wrist, gently guiding, and reassuring. Tobirama envied his position. He sighed, looking back at the burned, wet wood all around them. Hashirama was already promising Kenara he’d fix it for her, and the woman was shaking her head in amusement at his offers. 

Remembering how he and his brother had rushed into the room, responding to Kenara’s shriek of pain and the smoke pillowing out of the windows…. Tobirama shook himself from the memory of bursting into the room only to find it on fire, flames flaring around Madara like a protective barrier, as though they could defend him from the horrors in his mind. 

He had quickly doused the flames, but the ones directly around Madara, hiding him from view, refused to be quenched. He summoned Izuna, who was there within seconds. The Uchiha had dived through the flames and disappeared, only back in sight when the fire died down, slinking back into Madara with reluctance. Izuna had been mummering to Madara quietly, stroking his back, his hair. Tears of blood leaked out of the elder Uchiha’s eyes, thick and slow. 

He shook himself as Kenara wandered past him, straightening some burned furniture. “So?” he questioned, crossing his arms in an attempt to make himself look disinterested. “What did you think?” 

“I think it’ll take a lot more work, and a lot more time, than we expected.” Tobirama nodded slowly. He had had a suspicion it would. “But we will make progress. Madara does not want to forget, he just wants to have a handle on the recurring emotions that come with the memories. It is doable. His….fiery reaction is a good thing, really. It shows that he is affected strongly by these memories, and helps me get a better idea of how to help him.” 

“How do you keep the memories, but not the emotions involved?”Hashirama put in, looking far too curious for his own good. 

“You convince the brain to separate the emotions connected to the story,” Kenara explained. “It’s long and difficult, but entirely possible. It will take time, but Madara will heal. We can only stand beside him and support him while he does, help him through it.” 

Tobirama nodded, and Hashirama sighed. “I hope he’ll be alright,” his brother muttered, scuffing the soot at his feet. 

“He’s Madara Uchiha, of course he’ll be,” Tobirama scolded. Hashirama whined dramatically at his tone, and Kenara rolled her eyes, proceeding to shoo them out. She caught Tobirama’s wrist before he could follow Hashirama out. 

“He cares, you know,” she said quietly. “About you. More than he wants to admit. Be careful around him, but don’t treat him like he’s fragile. He’ll take offense to that.” 

“I suspected that,” Tobirama said dryly, considering her words. 

“The best thing you can do for him is just….exist. Be yourself, as blunt and crude as ever. Don’t put on any illusions. He needs reality to ground him. Presenting yourself as anything other than yourself won’t do any good.” 

“I’ll remember that,” he promised. In truth, her words surprised him a little, but upon further thought, he supposed it made sense. Madara was not the kind of person to enjoy being pampered, doted upon. He wouldn’t like being treated like he’ll break the moment he was touched. 

If he could help by being his usual self, well….who was he to deny him that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grounding techniques are amazing for panic attacks. Also, having something super salty, sour, or spicy on hand works great too! Or cold. The taste/temperature shocks the body into having something else to focus on, and forces your systems to reset. It's a fabulous trick and I've used it many times. 10/10


	26. Kintsugi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kintsugi: the Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery by mending the broken areas with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered silver, gold, or platinum 
> 
> ~*~*  
> This is a little short, and admittedly a little rushed, but my motivation levels are at like 2% rn, so.   
> Tobirama helps put Madara back together, more beautiful and unique than before

~*~*~

Tobirama watched Madara walk as slow as he possibly could, dragging his feet as he let the two small children lead him to Kenara’s home. It had been 5 weeks since the fiery incident, and since then, Madara had done his absolute best to be suddenly busy or occupied whenever it was time for another ‘session’. Izuna had started hounding him, following him around in the hour or two before it was time to go, but Madara quickly caught on and gave him the slip whenever he could, disappearing for a few hours and coming back, claiming that he had forgotten he was supposed to go over to Kenara’s that day. If that was the case, Kenara herself would just march over to his house later that night and not let him run off. 

It had gotten so bad that they had been forced to Madara’s greatest weakness against him: his soft spot for children. They had an uncanny ability to hunt him out when he was hiding, and Madara could never say no or refuse to walk with them when they asked to accompany him to Kenara’s. 

As he reflected, Madara and the two Uchiha kids, hardly more than 5 years old, slowly wandered past him. Madara threw him a glare over his shoulder. Tobirama grinned back, smugly, and Madara wrinkled his nose in response, humming in response to something the little girl was enthusiastically telling him about. 

Despite his reluctance to attend them, his sessions with Kenara were undoubtedly helping. Madara no longer froze or flinched when he saw him, and was starting to tolerate his touches much more. He even initiated them sometimes: a hand on his shoulder, a brushing of fingers when they exchanged papers, plucking a leaf or a strand of grass from his hair. Once, he had caught Tobirama by the back of his collar, yanked him back around the corner of a building, and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe. Then, with a strange expression on his face, he took off just as quickly. 

The rest of the village was healing, too. Shinobi and civilians alike were settling again, speaking to him as they always had before. For a while, they had been a little wary, a little on edge, when they were around him. The Yamanaka clan were lifesavers. 

He watched Madara disappear into Kenara’s house, feeling his chakra roll and boil and waver, then calm a few minutes later. Izuna took up his usual place outside, sitting on the steps, ready and waiting in case Madara needed him again. It had only happened twice after the first incident. 

Tobirama forced himself to turn away, and wander back to his office. Madara often came to him after he was done with Kenara. He was usually quiet, and Tobirama filled the silence by theorizing about his newest jutsus. It was familiar, a common practise between the two of them before, and it seemed to help Madara settle. He would sometimes be a little anxious, a little edgy and nervous after he left Kenara’s. 

With a sigh, Tobirama sat down behind his desk, eyeing the mound of paperwork in front of him and reluctantly grabbing the first report. Well, he had time to kill before Madara came to him. He may as well spend it productively. 

The first report had him resisting the urge to slam his head repeatedly against his desk until he knocked himself out. Damn Nara. 

~*~*~

It was only half an hour later when his office door burst open and Madara strode in, his eyes dark and his fists clenched tightly. Startled, Tobirama looked up, and stared at him. Madara stared back. 

“You’re early,” he said finally, when Madara didn’t move more. Madara’s eyes flicked down, for just a moment. Then, he was moving, hands curling into the front of his shirt, half pulling him out of his chair, and fiercely kissed him. 

Despite his surprise, Tobirama responded quickly, getting his feet under him and standing straight, hands automatically going up cup his face, willingly guiding him closer. “Madara,” he mumbled when the Uchiha pulled back a little, only to dive right back in, cutting off whatever else he was going to say. 

“Mads….Wait a minute.” Madara made a dissatisfied sound, stubbornly resisting. Tobirama held his chin firmly, and leaned back. “What are you doing?” 

Madara let him go, taking half a step back, and wrinkling his nose. He didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. “Kenara thinks you’ll help,” he mumbled, almost sheepishly. “She’s encouraging me to….ah. Take the progress a little further. If you know what I mean.” 

“Is she really?” Tobirama mused, running his fingers over his cheek lightly, pleased when Madara leaned ever so slightly into the touch. He sighed softly, and nodded. 

“She thinks that positive...interactions...will make things easier. And we have been, and they’re helping. So…” Madara trailed off, looking a little lost now. “So, yeah.” He shifted his weight, and Tobirama hummed, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear, letting him see his blind eye. At first glance, no one would know he was blind. But upon closer inspection, one could see the dulled tone, the lack of shine and luster that the other eye possessed. 

“In that case, I’m more than happy to help.” He tucked his fingers under Madara’s chin, tilting his face up. “But I will not go far.” Madara’s eyes narrowed. 

“It’s been months, Tobirama.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” 

“We’re shinobi. We don’t stay down for long.” 

“That still doesn’t mean-” 

“Just listen to me, would you?” Madara snapped, stepping back and crossing his arms. Tobirama mimicked his position, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Madara took a few minutes to glower at him, not trying to hide his irritation. “How much more of the village is still seeking aid from the Yamanaka clan?” 

Tobirama stared at him. What kind of question was that? He considered it for a moment, and to his surprise, found he couldn’t think of any names. Madara snorted. 

“Exactly. I’m the only one still going. You know why? Because shinobi are resilient, adaptable. We can protect ourselves, physically and mentally. And yes, sometimes we need help. But once we’ve had that help, we can adapt, overcome. Do you think me incapable of the same?” 

“You had it so much worse,” Tobirama protested, and Madara snorted. 

“Maybe. Have you spoken to Kenara lately?” 

“No. I respect your privacy. It’s your business, not mine.” The decision to not go and pry information out of Kenara had been a difficult one. Everytime he sensed Madara going home, he had to resist the urge to fly over to her place and ask how it went, how Madara’s progress was going. 

“Figures. If you had, you would know that we’ve gone through each and every single memory of mine, in incredibly explicit detail.” 

“Then why the reluctance to keep going?” Tobirama demanded, feeling a frown pull at him. 

“I didn’t see the point of continuing, but Kenara insisted there was more to do. So. Hence.” Tobirama gave him a look. 

“How long have you been putting…. _this_...off?” 

“I don’t know. A week, maybe?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I knew exactly how you’d react,” Madara growled. “Low and behold, I was right, wasn’t I? As always.” 

“What do you mean, ‘always’? I call bull.” 

“What? Screw you, Tobi, you’re just salty because I-”

Tobirama stepped forwards, hands curling into that tempting mess of hair, and silencing him with a searing kiss. Madara made a grumbling sound, but responded with as much enthusiasm as before, hands sliding down his chest, toying with the bottom of his shirt. One slipped up, touching the skin of his hip, and Tobirama inhaled harshly, letting Madara slip his tongue into his mouth. 

The other took advantage of his surprise, pushing a little at his chest. But it never was in Tobirama’s nature to yield. 

He surged back into the kiss, tongue battling for dominance, and dropped his hands to Madara’s hips, pushing back harder, pressing him against the front of his desk. Madara made a pleased, strangled sound, pulling away from the kiss to instead mouth and nibble at his neck. 

Tobirama sighed, tilting his head to give him better access, letting Madara take the reins just a little. “You infuriate me sometimes,” the Uchiha grumbled, letting Tobirama pull him up by the backs of his legs, urging him up to sit on the desk. He pulled his shirt insistently until he was standing between his legs, hands on the desk on either side of his thighs. 

“Same,” Tobirama offered, humming when Madara resumed his self appointed task of decorating his neck with hickies. He trailed his fingers down Madara’s back, under the heavy hair. “You should slow down a little, though.” 

Madara snorted; a breath of hot air against his neck that sent goosebumps down his spine. “Why, getting too much for you to handle?” 

“Yes.” 

Madara paused, and pulled back in surprise, raising a thin eyebrow. “Seriously?” His eyes glanced down, and an amused smile pulled at his lips. “Apparently. Who knew you’d be so easy, Tobi?”

“Don’t call me that,” Tobirama deflected, guiding Madara’s mouth back to his. The other was not to be distracted. 

“What, Tobi? I can’t call you Senju, that’s how I addressed the demon version. And Tobirama is too long.” 

“Stop being lazy.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“Wouldn’t dare.” He cut Madara’s snicker off with another kiss, which rapidly turned into a messy make-out session that left their lips swollen and bruised. “Should we take this elsewhere?” 

He felt Madara’s lips twist into a smile. “Wherever you want.” 

Looping his arms firmly around his partners waist, he reached for the hiraishin marker at his home, and teleported them away. 

~*~*~

He woke up to a pleasant, warm weight on his chest. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know what, or who, it was. Blindly, he reached out, finding the tangled hair, made even more messy after last night, and started stroking it absentmindedly. It took a few minutes for his partner to wake up. He opened his eyes just in time to see Madara blinking blearly at him. 

The Uchiha grunted, shifted, yawned hugely, and stretched out, long and luxurious. Then he promptly snuggled right back into his side with a content sigh. What an oversized cat. 

“Morning,” he greeted, hand lowering to trail up and down his spine. Madara just made an incomprehensible sound in response, and he chuckled lowly. “Sleep well?” Another mumble. “You’re not making it easy to understand what you’re saying.” A lower, louder grumble. 

He sighed. Slowly, carefully, he moved them, so that Madara was draped more fully over him, and would be more than able to feel his morning company. “Want to go again?”

Madara’s head shot up, dark eyes latching on him. “Why didn’t you start with that, idiot?” 

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” he said dryly, as Madara sat up, sliding up his body until his thigh could brush against his morning erection. Tobirama hissed. 

“You’re not the kind of person to make random conversation,” Madara replied, moving his leg and granting a brief brush of friction that had Tobirama clenching his eyes shut. “You’re much more of an ‘actions speak louder than words’, kind of person.” Tobirama opened his eyes, and arched an amused eyebrow. 

“Quite right.” He surged up, swiftly reversing their positions, and grinning at Madara’s startled yelp. He rested his weight on his elbows on either side of Madara’s shoulders, and smirked down at him. “Would you rather I show you rather than tell you how I enjoyed last night?” 

Madara’s eyes darkened, and his breath hitched, just a little. “Only if you actually do something and stop messing around.” 

Tobirama rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to one arm, trailing his other hand down Madara’s bare chest, over his stomach, and following the line where his leg met his hip. “So impatient.” 

“Some of us have things to do today, Tobirama,” Madara snarked back. “So if you really want this, you’ll hurry up and- ahhh, yesss.” 

Amused, Tobirama lowered his head, lazily mouthing at a faint hickie he had left on Madara’s neck last night, fingers exploring his entrance again. He was still loose from last night, but Tobirama didn’t rush, taking his time stretching and fingering him. Madara squirmed and wiggled beneath him, his breathing started to get heavier. 

“Sages, that’s enough, Tobi, come on.” His nails dug into his already scratched up back, but Tobirama ignored his demands, both the verbal and the silent ones. His twisted counterpart had likely not usually taken the time for this, and if he had, it probably would have been quick and painful. Last night they had been quick, not wasting time, too eager to feel each other. 

But now, he wanted to draw it out a little, and really, _really_ show Madara how pleasurable this was supposed to be. So he paid no attention to his growls to hurry up already, swirling and twisting and bending his fingers, watching Madara shake and whimper beneath him with delighted fascination. 

“Tobiramaaaaa,” the raven whined, pushing back into his fingers with rapid breaths and flushed cheeks. 

“Calm down,” Tobirama scolded gently, leaning more of his weight over him. One of Madara’s legs hooked over his hip. “You’ll get what you need, I promise. Just let me take care of you…” 

“You love to test my patience,” Madara complained, even as his eyes fluttered shut and his back arched off the bed with a muffled moan. 

“I like to look after you,” Tobirama corrected. “And sometimes that means taking my time with you, letting you know how this is supposed to feel, when it’s with someone you trust.” 

Madara’s eyes cracked open. “I trust you,” he panted, twisting a little. “So it’d be nice if you could kindly hurry the fuck up.” 

Tobirama groaned, bowing his head and pressing his fast into the crook of his neck. Of course, he knew that Madara trusted him. But to hear him say it so openly, so fearlessly…. As much as he wanted to drag this out a little more, his body was instantly making its own desires known. 

Enthusiastically reclaiming Madara’s lips, he blindly fumbled for the oil on the bedside table, slicking himself up, and wasting no more time in pushing in. Madara’s breath hitched, and he whined long and loud as he entered, rocking back to meet him. 

Tobirama sighed heavily when he was finally fully sheathed, taking a minute to breathe and let them adjust. Madara was taking none of it. He canted up into him with an impatient growl, having him slide into him even further and moaning, loud, as if to encourage Tobirama to move. 

“If you don’t hurry up I’m going to murder you,” he threatened, even if it sounded like a whiny little demand from a petulant child given his breathless, flushed state. 

“We’ll have to work on how impatient you are,” Tobirama snickered, but conceded to his demands, pulling out and thrusting back in. Madara gasped, head falling back onto the pillow, his entire body shaking, shuddering. “Easy,” Tobirama soothed, planting his hands over Madara’s shoulders, pulling out and rocking back in again. He quickly fell into a rhythm, thrusting hard and purposeful. 

Madara squirmed and writhed and twisted beneath him, meeting his thrusts with an almost frenzied need, clawing at his back and shoulders, occasionally biting at his neck and chest, simply to give himself something to ground on. His thighs clenched tight and demanding on his hips, a silent demand to move faster, harder. 

He leaned down after a moment, mouthing at his chest, following the lines of his muscles, and Madara keened, arching and bucking and hissing. Just as impatient as he had been last night. Tobirama took a moment to roll his eyes, amused, but also a little endeared. It was charming, in its own way. 

“Tobirama, come _onnnnnnn_ ,” he whined, eyes open to stare up at him. And who was he to deny such a request? 

He slotted their mouths together again, reaching down and stroking him, slow and firm, smirking when Madara whimpered into the kiss, going slack underneath him, besides the tight twitches of his muscles. The sensation had Tobirama groaning, moving his mouth down to bite down gently on the muscle of his shoulder. 

It took a few more strokes to finally push Madara over the edge. He came with a loud moan, back arching and eyes squeezing shut. The increased tightness, the increased heat, the clenching around him, and Tobirama followed after a dozen or so more thrusts, chasing his own end as Madara went limp under him. 

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, the lazily wet sound as their lips reconnected for a messy kiss. Madara’s hand caressed his back, slowly up and down. Tobirama leaned carefully over him, and Madara grunted under his weight, but didn’t complain, just looped his arms around his shoulders, encouraging him to slouch overtop of him. 

For a few minutes, they laid there in silence. Then Tobirama pushed himself up, pulling out of Madara and chucking at the oversensitized gasp it brought from him. He rolled off him, flopping onto his back next to him. 

“So, would you consider that a positive experience?” he asked, listening to Madara let out an amused chuckle. 

“Oh, of course. It was good.” 

“Just good?” 

“What, did you want me to sing your praises to the heavens? You have to work harder for that.” 

“So unpleasable.” 

“Get used to it.” 

“Gladly.” Madara snickered again, and Tobirama glanced over as he closed his eyes, wiggling down further into the mattress with a content sigh. “So. What now?” 

Madara cracked open his seeing eye. “Mhm?” 

“What now?” Tobirama repeated. “Are you going to keep seeing Kenara?” 

Madara sighed, blind eye opening too and joining its partner in staring blankly at the ceiling. “Yes, but not everyday anymore. She wants to see me once a week for a bit. Then every two, then every month. Progress.” 

“Were you okay?” Tobirama pressed, quietly. “Last night, this morning? Was there anything, anytime that-” 

“Tobirama,” Madara interrupted, finally turning to stare at him with a frown. “You would have known. I already told you. It was good. Everything. Even my mental sanity.” He tapped his temple, and Tobirama winced. 

“I feel like this was too soon.” 

“Maybe. But I’m not the kind of person to sit back and let things take their time. Kenara was right. Your presence does help. It reminds me that you’re not him, with how differently you act, speak…. You’re you, and you’re the one that I want.” 

Tobirama groaned, running a hand over his face. “You’re impossible.” 

“Entirely,” Madara agreed. “I’m serious, Tobi. Maybe I won’t fully recover. But I won’t let it rule my life. Consider this as me sayin a big old ‘fuck you’ to the whole experience with alter Tobirama and what happened with him. Fuck that, I do what I want, and I won’t let it chain me down any more.” 

“That certainly sounds like you,” Tobirama agreed, dryly, but with a smile. Madara hummed, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair, only for them to get snagged on a few nasty tangles. He made a face. 

“Now get your ass up and shower with me. You made my hair a disaster, and by the Sage’s beard, you’re going to fox it.” He rolled out of bed, stretching with a content sigh. Tobirama watched him, then reluctantly swung his legs off the mattress and to the floor. 

“So demanding….” Madara strode past him, glancing over his shoulder to wink at him. 

“You know it. Now hurry up.” He disappeared into the bathroom. Tobirama shook his head, pushing himself up, and followed right behind. 

As much as he complained about it…..He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right guys. 
> 
> That's it. That's the end. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for all of your comments and kudos and support! It really helped me keep going. It was hard to continue at times, but you all helped me find the motivation to work on! So, bless you all. Also, I still have plans for this ship! It may take me some time, but I fully intend on writing some of the prompts some of you guys gave me, both on AO3 and IG. Some of the ideas are as follows: 
> 
> AO3 Prompts:  
> Time Travel: suggested by YoonminSY  
> Hanahaki: by kumomi  
> Omegaverse: by Akari_Ukokiri  
> Alternate Universe: Menemi  
> ANGST AF: by Bookgal (an epic tale of seduction and betrayal and FEELS and I'm already working on a plot holy heck I'm actually so excited to write this I have so many ideas, THANK YOU)  
> *also taking your concussion idea cuz I love it <3*  
> Age Difference: by forida  
> Secret Relationship: by Chellygurlx
> 
> IG Promots:   
> Fight scenes, many: sidcro, Tiktacsss, sidcro (again), Bourbabe (x3)  
> Flirt Fight: by Tiktacsss (yo, this is gonna be so bad)  
> "I did a thing": by Fallouuut  
> Uchiha Signature Move: by Milckk  
> Ranting about each other and not realizing they're in love but everyone else does and are taking bets on it: by Milckk  
> "Character A loosing important thing and B just really fucking done with their crap": by lycheela
> 
> If you guys have more ideas for MataTobi ORR Hashimada, hit me up, I'm always looking for ideas!


End file.
